Breaking The Habit
by Bellum Gerere
Summary: A Dauntless leader hell-bent on keeping his vice a secret and a Candor transfer with a fear of moths. Together they make some very bad choices. AU/OOC. Sequel "Broken Boy Soldier" up now! (In the process of being line-edited.)
1. Dauntless

_A quick note about this story: I know the characters are OOC and this is probably the weirdest pairing you can ever think of, but I wanted to be able to explore their characters more, especially Eric's. Most of the story will be told from his point of view. Also, David: he was never in the book, in case you were wondering if you'd missed him. He is a mildly important OC who just happens to stick needles in Eric's face._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter One: Dauntless**

**Eric**

I am not sure exactly what wakes me, but if I had to venture a guess, I would say it is my pounding headache. Just opening my eyes requires a huge amount of effort, and as I blink away the blurriness of fatigue, I notice my hands. One or two of the scabs on my knuckles have peeled, revealing new skin, but the majority have been ripped off. Fresh blood stains the sheets, vivid red against the backdrop of off-white and rust.

It's not the first time this has happened. In fact, more often than not I wake with some part of me bruised or bloody. The risk of injury and possible death is one every Dauntless takes, but it runs even higher for me. Because I am a leader, because if I go a few days without a fix I cannot control myself.

I look at my hands. It has been a few days.

I reach blindly until I find the chain that turns on the other three lights. When I stand, I can see myself in the cracked shard of mirror hanging from the stone wall. My black hair is a greasy tangled mess. I consider washing it, but decide not to—it's a hopeless cause and a waste of time. Instead I flatten it a little with my thin fingers and pray no one notices. I step away from the mirror and my piercings catch the light, throwing reflections in every direction imaginable. At last count I had seventeen, but that could change in a matter of minutes.

Now that I've let myself think about it, I long for the feel of a needle piercing my skin. I don't trust myself to act normally if I shoot up, and since it is Choosing Day, I'll need my wits about me. Maybe I'll head down to see David later, see what he can do about the fact that I don't have a septum ring.

I bend down and pull on the first things I can find. Skintight pants, boots, a leather vest. My arms and chest are covered with dirt and black paint. I smear some across my eyes from a jar on the floor and check to make sure it hides the dark circles under them. (Fatigue is not leaderly, Max told me once, and I reluctantly took his advice to heart. I didn't need any more reasons for the others not to like me.) Once they have disappeared, I no longer look like the hopeless addict no one knows I am. I look Dauntless. And, if I'm being honest with myself, that confirmation is exactly what I need.

~oOo~

Max—another Dauntless leader, another conspirator—catches up to me at the end of the hallway. "Have you seen Four?" he asks urgently. He keeps trying to meet with Four, and I'm sure Four is avoiding him. I shake my head and wait.

"Can you go find him?" I knew he was going to ask, he always does. I shake my head again. This time I raise my eyebrow, moving several piercings in the process. "Well, why not?"

"Have you forgotten what day it is?" I turn around and start walking, but backwards, so I can make progress and still see his reaction. His brow furrows, and he pushes a hand through his gray-streaked hair.

"Right. Well, if you see him, tell him I'm looking for him."

I shrug. "Might not see him. I'm busy today." But I know now that I will make a point of seeking him out. I'm always looking for excuses to see Four, slip into the conversation that I'm not second best anymore, am I?

"Of course you are." Part of him, I'm sure, is angry that I'm the one who took the extra step and volunteered to oversee training for the faction transfers. We might be working for the same cause, but we are more reluctant colleagues than friends.

I start across the Pit, not waiting to hear the end of his response. David's room is in the hallway opposite mine, one of the generic spaces not reserved for Dauntless leaders or initiates. (Mine is as well, but I'm loathe to admit it. The rest of the leaders all live in the Spire, and they despise me. When it came time to pick my living quarters, I decided I would rather stay close to the few friends I have.) I know I will find him there-it's too early for him to be anywhere else. People watch me as I go by. Some bow their heads respectfully or mutter greetings. The ones that don't are frozen, watching me out of the corners of their eyes. I can sense their stares on me, and the feeling of their mixed respect and fear is not entirely an unpleasant one.

I don't bother knocking on David's door, I just push right in. The chair is already set up, an assortment of needles and rings on a tray next to it. The puncture scars on the inside of my elbow ache just looking at them. Obviously, he knew I was coming. Part of me wonders if Asher let him know I'm in a shitty mood, but I push that thought away. Whatever the two of them have to say about me behind my back is clearly none of my business.

"Let me guess." I turn around and he is there, tan fingers tapping impatiently on the bed frame as he scrutinizes me from under an unruly mop of brown hair. I don't have a bed frame. My thin mattress is on the floor, like everything else. "Septum ring?"

"Right as always." Now that the tedious guessing process is over I am free to drop into the chair. David snaps on a pair of rubber gloves and looks at me like he knows. And he does. I've paid him well to keep my dirty little secrets (though one would think it comes with the territory, being friends with a leader and all). The only thing he has to do is supply me (no matter how reluctantly) with a vice.

"Don't hold back," I say. It has been almost a year since I stopped getting numb like I used to. I expect the pain, I anticipated it. The slow burn of the healing puncture is the best part, though, and I hope it will be enough of a high to get me through the day.

"It'll be a couple days before we get more in," he says, answering my question before I ask it. "Probably a good thing, though. You'll have faction transfers to train." He winks at me. David was in my group two years ago, and he is one of the few people who knows I transferred to Dauntless from Erudite. Not to mention one of the few I allowed close enough to call friend.

"Don't remind me. I hope we get another Stiff this year. Something I can use to taunt Four."

"Yeah, yeah," David mutters. His Candor nature, still not hidden well enough after two years, allows me to know exactly when he's annoyed with me, and now is one of those times. "Hold still."

I close my eyes and let him stick the needle in me, forgetting everything I have to do, all feigned interest in my responsibilities, until there is only the pain.


	2. Transfers

_This chapter should be nothing new…it's the scene where Eric is first introduced in the original novel. That being said, I got a lot of dialogue straight from the book, so I'm going to issue my disclaimer for the entire story here: I do not own any of the characters except the ones that I made up, and I don't own any of the dialogue in this chapter._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Two: Transfers**

**Eric**

Five hours later I stride down the hall to the cafeteria, hoping to intercept Four and maybe scare the hell out of some faction transfers. It's almost always easy to do, especially considering I must have at least one bruise on my pale face, not to mention all the holes from piercings. I feel the cold ring of metal whenever I inhale, smell the blood. The pain of raw injuries is a balm that soothes my craving, makes it bearable. I clench and unclench my hands as a distraction. Forcing my face into an expression that radiates ice and danger, I push open the door.

The room falls silent, except for a few hushed whispers, the kind that tend to follow me wherever I go. According to Asher, I'm a sight to see, with my piercings and tattoos and the dirt that almost always covers me. The majority of the general population of Dauntless would be lying, she claims, if they said they weren't at least a little afraid of me. Most of the tables are occupied by a mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. I scan the room and finally locate Four sitting with two transfer girls—one from Candor…one from Abnegation. _Yes_. And I haven't just noticed them, they've seen me too. As I start towards the table I can't help but notice that while the Stiff is whispering to Four and doing anything she possibly can to avoid my gaze, the Candor makes no move to stop staring at me.

I drop into the seat next to Four, who pretends not to notice I'm there. It doesn't work. I can see how tense he is. The transfers eye me warily. I don't greet them. It would cause my façade to crumble in a second if I appear even the slightest bit friendly. "Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" I ask instead, nodding at them.

Trying his best to appear casual, Four replies: "This is Tris and Christina."

"Ooh, a Stiff." I know I won't be able to get a rise out of him, but I can't help it. "We'll see how long you last." She doesn't respond. The look on her face is priceless, somewhere between incredulous and terrified. I turn away. "What have you been doing lately, Four?"

He hears the edge in my voice. Knows I don't really care. Shrugs. "Nothing, really."

"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up. He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

He looks at me suspiciously for a few seconds. The last thing I want to do is make it appear to him that I'm Max's lapdog, because then I have no power over him, and I need that power, need it more than I need air. "Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold."

"So he wants to give you a job." I'm not sure if I believe it. He would be of no use to us. He might even be one of them—no one would be surprised if it turned out he was.

"So it would seem."

"And you aren't interested."

"I haven't been interested for two years." His voice is more or less devoid of emotion. He's always been good at controlling himself, because of his background. I'm one of the few people with access to that precious information, and I keep it in my back pocket at all times, because I never know when I'll need to pull out in order to make him cooperate.

"Well. Let's hope he gets the point, then." I clap Four on the shoulder as I get up to leave the table. Maybe a little too hard. Oh, well. I would've punched him—all friendly, of course, just a show of affection between two former initiates—if it weren't for my damn bloody knuckles.

~oOo~

Four vanishes without a trace—hopefully down the chasm—and I am forced to show the transfers around, something that would normally be his job. I don't bother to tell them where we're going, which from anyone else would invite questions, but they remain silent. Already nervous around me. Good.

I stop in front of the door to the room where the transfers will stay and turn to face them. I can't look at that door, there are too many memories behind it. "For those of you who don't know, my name is Eric." _And for those who _do_ know…_ My eyes land on the Candor who'd been sitting with Four and the Stiff. She stares right back. "I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless. We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training.

"Some ground rules. You have to be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation." _I hope I sound as bored as I am_. I think idly that it's lucky Asher got a job in the tattoo parlor, because if she'd ended up having to do this she wouldn't have even made it halfway through the spiel.

"You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless. Behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the next few weeks. You will notice that there are ten beds and only nine of you. We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far."

"But we started with twelve." I don't have to look to know this is the Candor girl speaking. Who else would that tone of voice, that brutal, interrupting honesty come from? I shrug and closely examine my fingernails, trying to look nonchalant.

"There is always at least one transfer who doesn't make it to the compound. Anyway, in the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that doesn't mean you are evaluated separately. At the end of initiation, your rakings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates. And they are better than you are already. So I expect—"

"_Rankings_?" This time the interruption comes from a tall Erudite girl standing next to the Stiff. "Why are we ranked?"

I smile. I've been hoping someone would ask. At the very least, it will make things more interesting. "Your ranking serves two purposes. The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation. There are only a few _desirable_ positions available. The second purpose is that only the top ten initiates are made members."

Complete silence, then the Candor girl says "What?" This time I actually look at her. Dark hair and eyes, dressed in standard black-and-white Candor clothing. She has a name, I remember. Christina. And Christina does not look happy, nor do any of the other transfers, whose expressions range from shocked to furious.

"There are eleven Dauntless-born, and nine of you. Four initiates will be cut at the end of stage one. The remainder will be cut after the final test."

"What do we do if we're cut?" a boy asks.

"You leave the Dauntless compound and live factionless."

'But that's…not fair!" Another Candor. Of course they would be the most vocal, and the first to protest. "If we had _known_-"

I snap. I've had enough of this and it's barely been five minutes. The transfers don't understand the way thing are done here. They never do, not at first. "Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn't have chosen Dauntless? Because if that's the case, you should get out now. If you are really one of us, it won't matter to you that you might fail. And if it does, you are a coward."

I push the door open, eager to leave them to their own devices and possibly find some peace in solitude.

"You chose us. Now we have to choose you."


	3. Interruption

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Three: Interruption**

**Eric**

Alone at last, I lock my door without turning on the lights. Instead I get down on my knees and sift through the debris on my floor (dirty laundry, cigarette butts, empty bottles that once held beer) until I unearth a dark brown bottle of liquor, still unopened. Further digging reveals a half-full pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. My lighter is nowhere to be found. It's not enough, not by a long shot, but it will have to do. Hopefully it will get me through the night.

The silence ringing in my ears is deafening. I strike a match and light the cigarette, uncork the bottle. Alternating between long drags and short drinks, I settle into a steady rhythm interrupted only by my ragged breathing.

Tomorrow will be the first day of training for the initiates. Four will spend his morning teaching the transfers how to shoot, which will be nothing if not a show. I would say I mean to help him, but that is a lie. The last thing I want to do is hang around a bunch of incompetent faction transfers with loaded guns, especially the way I'm feeling now (although if one of them were to shoot me, I'd probably consider it an act of mercy).

I've smoked the cigarette almost down to the filter and am strongly considering lighting another when there is a knock on the door. I don't know who it is, so I put out the cigarette on the wall, drain the rest of the liquor and toss the bottle into a corner, where it makes a hollow ringing sound but doesn't break. As a leader, I won't get written up for smoking or drinking. It's hard to get written up for those things anyway. But it's still generally frowned upon, especially for those in charge, to be under the influence of anything. The next knock is followed by an exasperated sigh and an attempt to turn the knob. I tense up. I know that voice.

Sure enough, when I open the door Four is behind it, tapping his fingers on the wall impatiently. He pushes past me without a single word, pulling the chain for the lights as he settles gingerly on the edge of my mattress. He looks around at the mess on the floor with a disgusted expression that hints at condescending thoughts.

"What do you want?" I snap. He doesn't answer. Instead he inhales deeply, and that look is back again.

"You didn't have to put out your precious cigarette for me," he says. "I wouldn't have been surprised."

As if smoking is the worst of my habits. I would be angry if I didn't know how to put him back in his place.

"I'm waiting, _Tobias_." I sit down so close to him that we share breaths. He is claustrophobic; this will make him uncomfortable. "What. Do. You. Want?"

I've never seen him as angry as he is now, and I have to admit it almost worries me. It would have. If I weren't a leader. If I didn't have power over him. I've spent so long trying to get the power, and now I have it. Why should I be worried?

His voice is steady and controlled, not a hint of anger, not the least bit upset. "What did you say to the transfers?"

Oh. That. "I told them the truth."

"The truth about _what_, Eric?" He rarely uses my name. It hits me that he must be more upset than he's letting on.

'That not all of them will make it through this. The Dauntless-born initiates already know; why shouldn't the transfers?" I cross my arms and lean against the cold stone wall. He wouldn't usually make such a big deal out of this. I have a feeling it has to do with the Stiff.

"But their first day?" He sighs deeply, leans forward with his head in his hands. He's being a bit irrational, and he probably knows it. But he'd never admit that to me. "None of them will sleep tonight."

"Then they don't deserve to be here." I have a sudden flash of the Candor girl—Christina—and I know she will make it through the night. She is different.

_It could be because…no. _I push that thought out of my head. I can't afford to think of her now, with nothing to numb the pain.

"But that's not the reason I came here." He straightens up, and I notice that his hand is deep in his pocket, closed around something.

"Why are you here, then?" There aren't many reasons he would come to see me willingly. I can't even think of any.

"I'm here," he says slowly, "because I have something you might want." He pulls his hand out of his pocket, and in his palm is a bottle of Instigate.

My mouth goes dry, my hands clench into fists and I can feel the syringe burning a hole in the corner of my room, right through the concrete floor. If I was fighting withdrawal before, it is nothing compared to how I feel now. I would give anything—almost anything—to be back in that heavenly hell of forgetfulness. But I will not let myself look weak in front of him, and a more important question burns in my mind: How does he know?

"You should be more careful who you get to do your dirty work," he says. "With the proper…persuasion, they can turn their backs on you within seconds."

"What did you do?" I try to control the tremors in my voice, but it's no use. I will readily admit that I'm not as worried about David's welfare as I am about who would supply me with Instigate if he mysteriously turned up dead. He will be fine. He knew the risks when he volunteered, right?

"Nothing you wouldn't have done." _And I would do a lot._ "Consider this a warning. Don't come anywhere near the transfers tomorrow."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Well, then we didn't need to have this conversation, did we?" He slips the bottle into his pocket and moves to the door. Too far gone to care anymore, I lunge for him, but he pushes me aside and I land on the empty liquor bottle, which embeds glass in my arm as it shatters. As he closes the door, his last words linger behind him: "See you in two days."


	4. Chasm

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Four: Chasm**

**Eric**

Two days feels longer than I thought it would. The morning I am due to watch the transfers fight, I have a migraine that won't go away. I am paler than usual, the circles under my eyes have gotten worse. I can barely drag myself off the thin mattress in the morning, even with the threat lf Four's anger looming heavy over my head. It's already obvious how the day will go. I know I will be absolutely vicious to the transfers, Four will withhold the Instigate, and I will sink slowly into delirium. At least I've resigned myself to my fate.

I arrive and take my place next to Four as the first pair begins to fight. It's a comical match—one of them is the biggest and burliest of the lot, the other among the smallest, and stick-thin. As usual, I don't bother with their names—I'm sure I'll learn them eventually—but when the little one gets punched in the jaw I smirk at his opponent, turning one of the rings in my eyebrow absentmindedly. The violence keeps me awake, and analyzing the fight keeps me sane. There are always a few who come here with the advantage of strength or size, and the larger one obviously has both.

After a few more punches and kicks, they stop and start to circle each other. I check my watch. Normally one of them would have been down by now, but they're just dancing around each other hesitantly, neither willing to hit the other. This fight is the only thing keeping my mind here, and I can't afford to drift away.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity?" I shout, the anger and irritation seeping through clearly. "Should we break for naptime? Fight each other!"

The big one looks over at me. Surprisingly, he seems more hesitant than his opponent. "But…is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue."

"According to Dauntless rules, one of you could also concede." I don't even have to look to know it's Four who said this. He has more traditional honor than anyone in Dauntless, without question. But it's my job to enforce the new rules, even if I don't wholeheartedly agree with them. I turn and glare at him.

"According to the _old_ rules. In the _new_ rules, no one concedes."

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others."

"A brave man never surrenders."

We stare at each other, both thinking the same thing but neither willing to say it out loud. We are more alike than either of us cares to admit, but we can't let the transfers know that. At least, I can't. It would ruin the reputation I've worked so hard to build and uphold. Untouchable, unapproachable. That has to be me.

'This is ridiculous," the big one says. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

"Oh, you think it's going to be easy?" The little opponent grins, putting his hands up. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

Yes. This is exactly what I came for. The small one is fast, he even lands a good kick or two, but it's no use. The fight is over in a matter of seconds, and he is crumpled on the ground.

"Get him up," I order. On the chalkboard, Four circles the winner's name—Al—before leading the injured one out of the room…leaving me alone with the transfers. Hell. "Next up-Molly and Christina!" Christina. The Candor girl that sparked such a strong reaction in me yesterday. I tell myself not to react if she gets hurt. It doesn't matter that their names are made of the same letters, she is not…

She manages to get in one kick right at the beginning, but she is no match for Molly's strength. The beating is short but brutal: within minutes she is sobbing and covered in her own blood, and her opponent shows no signs of stopping.

"Stop! Stop! I'm…" She coughs. Blood spatters the floor." I'm done."

No. Too much to handle, they are too much alike. Before I even consciously realize what's happening, my legs carry me forward until I stand over her body, bruised and battered on the floor. "I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?"

She pushes herself up, leaving smears of blood on the mat, and nods. It flares an anger in me the likes of which I haven't felt since my own initiation. She is breaking through the drug-controlled numbness I've spent two years building up, and I can't let it happen. She can't worm her way inside me.

"Get up." Sudden determination rushes through me. I will not let this memory-girl control me. I will take care of this problem the only way I know how. "Follow me," I say to the rest of the transfers as I drag Christina out of the room by her red-splattered arm, trusting that fear will be enough to make them follow.

I lead them to the chasm, where the river sprays against the rock, ignoring the stares I receive from every full member I pass. "Climb over it," I say, shoving her into the railing.

"What?" Her voice, indignant but masking a slight nervous tremor, almost breaks me. Appearance-wise, they are nothing alike. It's only in attitude that I see her ghost. I am going to desperate measures to get rid of anything that reminds me of her.

"Climb over the railing. If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice. If you can't, I will not allow you to continue initiation."

"Fine." I can hear her voice shaking, but I pretend not to. She swings herself over the railing and lowers herself off the ledge. A minute or so passes in time to the tapping of my thick-soled boot, and she does not fall…but just as I start to feel she can do it, she is sprayed with white water and slips, barely holding on by her fingertips.

_No!_ I clench my hands together behind my back. _Not Christina. Not Christian._

_"I don't think you can do it," I say as she drags me towards the railing, light brown hair flying out behind her. When she first jumped on the train with me it was filled with natural sun-kissed highlights, but spending weeks underground has turned it monochrome again. She stops in front of it and begins to climb over. "Five minutes," she says, and kisses me before she lowers. "Time me."_

_One minute. Two. Three. It's almost easy for her. _Christina, on the other hand, sobs and is sprayed again, now hanging by one hand. _Three and a half. Her hands start to slip slowly, inciting a tension in me. Four. _Another splash. All I can see of her is her hand. She's grabbed onto the very bottom of the vertical bars, but I'm not holding out hope. She still has to last another third of a minute. _ Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. A wave hits her back and she screams. Only her right hand visible through the railing. I am bent in half trying to hold her up, but I'm afraid that I'm only succeeding in making her fall faster. Three. Two. One._

"Five minutes are up," one of the initiates—I don't look to see who—says in a voice choked with fear. I make a show of checking the time, trying to force myself back to the present. The thought of her aches, ripping open the years-old scar of a formerly closed wound.

"Fine." It takes an incredible amount of concentration to keep my voice steady. "You can come up, Christina. No, she has to do it on her own." I add as the big one, Al, walks toward the railing.

"No, she doesn't. She did what you said. She's not a coward. She did what you said."

As I watch her friends help her up it occurs to me that the only real difference in their stories is that Christina made it out alive.


	5. Choice

_Okay, so first of all, thanks to PrincessDorkatron42 for the awesome review…this isn't a pairing that's commonly shipped, I know, and it's great to know that someone is reading it. And now, on a slightly more serious note, INSURGENT IS OUT MAY FIRST! (Along with the new Black Veil Brides song…I can't decide which I'm more excited about.) Now the real serious thing: I am strongly considering writing an outtake from this story for Fandom For No Kid Hungry. I'm looking for a beta and a banner-maker who are willing to help with a fandom that is not Twilight *groan*. So, if you can help or you know someone who can…tell me. That would be great. As far as this chapter goes, it's a little shorter than originally planned. I'm dividing the capture-the-flag sequence into two or possibly three chapters, and the next one is almost finished. It won't be very long either, but I'm hoping to get a lot more written on this story._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Five: Choice**

**Eric**

"Stop playing with her. I don't have all day."

I am tapping my foot faster than the clock in an effort to hide how much I am shaking. It's been almost two weeks since my last fix and I can feel myself slowly going insane. Four and I stand against the wall, watching the Stiff get beat up. Not surprising, seeing as it's her first time in the ring (although the last Stiff to fight here was surprisingly good, considering his…background). My mind is not on the battle. It should be, but I am trying not to think about yesterday's memory scare. It is difficult without Instigate to drown my thoughts, and every time I think I've successfully forgotten I look over at Christina. She is bruised and hiding a limp, and every now and then her lip will start bleeding again. When she lifts her hand to dab at the blood on her face, I force myself to turn away.

I look at the board and note that she is fighting Will today. I don't know much about him except that he is an Erudite transfer, like me, that he is not very big, and that he lost to Al yesterday. She would have no problem winning if she wasn't so beaten up already. Will is too, having been knocked out, but his injuries are nowhere near hers. I can't help but wonder how the fight would go if I hadn't dangled her into submission and further harm.

My hair falls into my face when I move, and I brush it away impatiently to see that while I've been lost in thoughts of Christina the Stiff has taken a pretty bad beating and Four has left the room, which means I am alone to deal with the transfers. Fantastic. "Enough!" I yell halfheartedly, stepping up to the mat and instructing Al to carry her to the hospital. The reason I'm doing this, I know, is not because she is badly hurt—though she is that—but because she is Christina's friend. This is my subtle, brought-on-by-withdrawal way of partially apologizing for almost killing her. But even after that, I am still forced to call her to fight.

Unlike yesterday's, this match is over in seconds, when Will gets in one good punch to her jaw. I circle his name on the board rather than watch her struggle to get up. My mind slips and for a fleeting second I see Christian in front of me, bobbing up and down impatiently as she waits for her turn to fight. There was never a single bruise on her face. She always won. I force the image away. I can't afford to lose it here.

I call more names and watch more fights. So far, none of them are particularly impressive to me, though I might be setting my standards too high. Al goes unconscious after a few hits, making me suspicious, though I don't comment. It's easy enough to see, though, that he's throwing the fight on purpose. His Candor stare gives everything away. My eyes flick back to her every few seconds. She sits on the floor, cradling her jaw where she's been hit. She is bleeding again, but I don't think she notices.

The transfers gather in a loose semicircle around me after the last fight, after I call out "Listen up" in the most bored voice I can muster. I need to convince them that I don't care, which shouldn't be too difficult, considering none of them are particularly observant.

"You'll be taking a little field trip to the fence tomorrow, to learn about Dauntless jobs." We did the same thing when I was an initiate, though I don't remember much of the actual content they covered. I was preoccupied with Christian and Asher, going at each other like they always did. "The train leaves at eight fifteen. I suggest you be there."

"Will you be coming with us?" asks the Candor transfer who beat the shit out of the Stiff not even twenty minutes ago. Peter, if I remember correctly. His tone practically screams _sycophant_. I can't help but glare at him condescendingly.

"No, because I have a job to do." _Unlike you_, I think, but I can't say it out loud, can't give them any evidence against me. "One that's a little more important than babysitting you all day." He looks appropriately embarrassed, which makes me laugh. I'm expecting everyone to leave, but when they don't, I press my palm against my forehead and close my eyes. "You can go now."

They file out in groups of two or three, already splitting up into packs. My year was more or less split into two even camps. People who were friends with Four, and people who were friends with me. The only person to try and bridge that gap ended up dead. I see Christina leaving with Will, at the back of the group—how odd that she would choose to stay with him after he bruised her jaw like that—and I can't help it, I need to talk to her. Before I'm fully aware of my intentions I've placed my hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her place.

"Don't move," I say quietly, although she is frozen with fear and I doubt she can. I'm still not quite sure why I stopped her (what can I say to someone I nearly killed yesterday?) when I notice her hand on her jaw and an idea strikes me. I go over to the small first aid station in the corner of the room and grab an ice pack from the cooler. She watches me warily as I approach her again and hold it out. "For your jaw."

She takes it hesitantly, as though it might poison her, but when she holds it to her injury I hear a sigh of relief escape her lips. "Thanks."

"No problem."

She pauses at the door, turns to face me. I know what's coming and yet there still isn't enough time to prepare for the single-word bomb she drops on me.

"Why?"

Somehow I know she's not talking about the ice pack. "You wouldn't understand."

She glares at me as she walks away, full of righteous anger, black-and-blue skin. "Of course I wouldn't."

~oOo~

For reasons I don't fully understand, I stay behind to scrub the floor of the practice room. Guilt, maybe. I can't stand knowing that her blood is somewhere on this floor and, all right, maybe it reminds me a little too much of my own rust-stained sheets. The small part of me that retained its sanity knows that I just want to keep my hands busy. If I sit around idly in the midst of withdrawal, who knows what desperate measures I might resort to in order to get a fix.

The door opens and shuts behind me as someone enters the room, but I ignore them, choosing to continue my methodical scrubbing of the floor. I hope that if I remain silent long enough, they will go away, but soon another rag appears next to mine, guided by a disgustingly familiar hand.

"What do you want?" I snap. If there is even the slightest chance he is carrying that vial in his pocket right now…I am so far gone that I might kill to get it, and the fact that Four would be dead would only be an added bonus to my high. Any lingering guilt would be forgotten in the midst of blessed relief.

"This isn't your job."

"It isn't yours either."

I won't let him win, and he knows it. I always have to have the last word. He switches tactics. "I heard what you did yesterday." I open my mouth, planning on defending myself, but nothing comes out. There's nothing I can say, really. "How could you possibly think," he continues calmly, "that something like that would be justifiable?"

"I…" Scrambling for self-justifying words, I finally settle on turning it around on him. Not my best strategy, but the short notice leaves me little time to go over my choices. "I wasn't thinking straight. You know that."

"Of course." The look he gives me is full of disgust and hatred. I recognize it immediately. It's one I commonly use on him. "It had absolutely nothing to do with—"

"Don't." I drop the rag and stand up. Water-diluted blood drips off my hands in a familiar pattern. "I don't know what makes you think you can talk to me like that, but you should be more careful when you do it." I tap the inside of my elbow and raise an eyebrow at him. Judging by the fact that he remains on the floor, he doesn't have it on him. But he _has_ it…

"Right. Well, I'll let you finish up here." He stands and tosses his rag at me, his face emotionless. He must have had a lot of time to practice that in Abnegation. I catch the cloth easily. "And I'll even cut you a deal." Apparently fed up with my antics, he turns to walk out of the room, tossing the words behind him. "We're playing capture the flag tomorrow night. I might just let you have it if you win."


	6. Stakes

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Six: Stakes**

**Eric**

I spend the next twenty-four hours doing semi-useful things. Washing the blood and dirt from my body, collecting the empty bottles and burned-out cigarettes from my bedroom floor, unearthing the dresser and putting my clothes in it. When I finish, the room and I are spotless, my collection of syringes safely hidden away in a hold behind the mirror, and I sink onto the mattress, holding the flag in my hands…holding my life in my hands, because if I don't win, my slow, painful death is guaranteed.

When it is time to wake the transfers-like they'd even gotten any sleep-I meet the other Dauntless, Four among them, who signed up to be a part of this. As usual, I am the last to show up, but one of the first in the door. We all have flashlights to shine on the transfers, and somehow the beam of mine lands on Christina. "Everybody up!" I yell as I try to focus on her. Someone's flashlight shines behind me, and once I adjust to the light I see that she stands next to a bunk with only a thin T-shirt on. My gaze drops to her legs, bare and dotted with bruises, and I find I suddenly need to look elsewhere. My eyes land on the Stiff, who stares back at me and doesn't move.

"Did you go deaf, Stiff?" Once I have called her out, she stands up. "You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks. We're going on another field trip."

Once the announcement has been made, I lead the members to the tracks, avoiding Four's eyes even though he is trying to catch mine. Soon the Dauntless-born initiates catch up with us, then the transfers. "Everyone grab a gun!" I shout, gesturing to the pile of them, along with boxes of paintballs. While the initiates are busy arming themselves, I turn to Four, still not meeting his eyes. "Time estimate?"

He barely glances at his watch. "Any minute now. How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?"

"Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?" I shove his shoulder in a gesture that hopefully comes off as friendly to our audience, and we all jump on the train.

"We'll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag," Four says after everyone is on board. "Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same. This is a Dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously."

"What do we get if we win?" someone yells.

Four raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like the kind of questions someone not from Dauntless would ask. You get to win, of course."

"Four and I will be your team captains," I continue, glancing at him. "Let's divide up transfers first, shall we?"

"You go first," he says, throwing me a bone. I shrug and scan the group, looking for…"Edward."

Four nods. "I want the Stiff."

I stifle a laugh. "Got something to prove? Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?"

"Something like that." He shrugs. "Your turn."

"Peter."

"Christina." I don't pause to glare at him-that would be a dead giveaway-but I wish I could.

"Molly."

"Will."

"Al."

"Drew."

"Last one left is Myra." I grit my teeth. "So she's with me. Dauntless-born initiates next." We finish choosing teams quickly, and I smirk at him.

"Your team can get off second," I say.

"Don't do me any favors. You know I don't need them to win."

"No, I know that you'll lose no matter when you get off. Take your scrawny team and get off first, then." I watch as Four's team jumps, then turn to mine. "You should all know that I have a lot more riding on this than just winning a game. It-"

"How is that even possible?" Peter interrupts, smirking at me. I hate to say it, but he reminds me of myself when I was a transfer-strong, a good fighter, but arrogant. Unlike I would've, though, he doesn't realize what a mistake he's made. "I mean," he continues, oblivious to my steadily growing anger, "it's just a game."

I step forward until we are inches apart, taking fierce pleasure in watching the color drain from his face, to be replaced by a look of terror. "Listen, transfer," I say quietly. "Four has something of mine. He's only going to give it back to me if I-if _we_-" I add, glaring at the rest of my team, "win this. And what he took from me could literally be the difference between my life and death. So don't tell me this is just a game." I lower my voice, speaking only to him. "remember your place. Alright, everyone, Peter's in charge," I say, smiling viciously. My _and he's dead if we lose_ remains unspoken. "Let's go hide the flag."


	7. Eyes Open

_I'm thinking about doing a prequel that takes place during Eric's transfer year. Yay or nay?_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Seven: Eyes Open**

**Eric**

We jump out of the train onto crumbling concrete mixed with dry grass. Lack of Instigate has caught me off guard, and I land unbalanced, skimming my arms, knees, side, across the graying blacktop. Fresh blood and gravel replace what I washed off earlier, and even in dim light it looks startlingly dark against my pale skin.

Peter looks around uncertainly, taking in our surroundings. All things considered, we lucked out on location: almost directly to our right, maybe a quarter of a mile away, is the park at the end of Navy Pier. It is mostly open space, good for seeing our attackers, but there is also a thin line of trees in which the flag could be concealed. He catches my eye, and I jerk my head toward it. For a second, I think he doesn't understand, but he turns to the others and says "Let's head to the park. We can hide the flag in the trees." Without looking back he starts walking, and we fall into step behind him.

"Are you sure letting him lead is a good idea?" a quiet voice asks next to me. I turn and see Asher, my oldest friend among-and before-the Dauntless, the only Erudite to transfer with me. "If you're really that desperate, you shouldn't be letting a first-timer lead, let alone a transfer." She grins, bumping me wit her shoulder, and I feel myself starting to relax.

"Well, the way I see it, if _I _lose, the deal is off. He wins. But if _Peter_ loses…" I grin, the movement pulling at the six piercings on and below my lower lip. "The deal is null and void."

"Clever." She elbows me again. "I don't think Four will see it that way, though. He still blames it for…everything that happened." Saddened into silence, we look away from each other, and I blink rapidly against the burn of tears.

We reach the park and I take the flag out of my pocket. "I," I say, holding it up, "will put this in the trees. The rest of you…figure out some sort of plan. And remember, Peter is in charge." I smirk at him and begin to scale a tree. The flag gets draped over a lower branch, where someone tall could reach it, but I keep climbing until the branches start to crack under my weight. There are symbols carved into the trunk behind where my back will rest. two-the tree for Amity, the eye for Erudite.

_"Do you miss them?" she asks, digging the knife further into the rough wood._

_"I don't think so," I respond carefully. Dark hair falls over my eyes, and I brush it away. Hers is tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. "Not my family, anyway. But…it ws more peaceful than it is here."_

_"Peace is overrated." Satisfied with her tree, she moves on to the unmarked section beneath it. I realize that I made a mistake in saying that. There was a reason, after all, that she transferred from Amity. "And we're never going to fully achieve it." She rocks back to examine her work and almost slips off the branch. I grab her around the waist, helping her regain her balance, and suddenly realize how close we are, only inches apart. I don't have time to speak before she closes that distance, and our lips meet._

The shouting of my team below jerks me violently from the flashback. "There they are! Can't you see it moving?" I push myself to stand precariously on the branch and see the top of the moving Ferris Wheel.

"Yes," I whisper, and descend to be met by arguments when I hit the ground.

"It could be a trap."

"Who cares? I say we all go."

"They turned it on to lure us away." Asher pushes her bleached-platinum-blonde hair out of her face. "It's what you would do, isn't it? We're staying here."

Peter glares at her, momentarily forgetting that even though she is a member, I technically put him in charge. "Fine. We stay here."

"It's an easier way to win, anyway," Asher mutters. "Protect our flag and pick them off when they come for it. That's what we did when I was an initiate." Neither of us mentions that when we were initiates, our team lost. Badly.

I return to my perch, this time in a tree some distance from the flag and closer to the ground. The bickering continues in hushed voices, even though the final decision has already been made. If i were myself I would berate them for being so serious, but they're not as bad as I am. I need this win, my scattered brain knows it. But Four will not go easy on us…

Suddenly the park is alive with shouts and the shooting of paintball guns. Safely concealed in the tree, I peer through the leaves to see my team and Four's fighting each other desperately. There are-fittingly-only four of them, so this will not last long, though I am prepared to wait all night.

Gripping my gun in one hand, I start to climb down, only to hear shouts of victory…from his team. Not mine. Panicked, I look around until I spot a thin, bruised, all-too-familiar arm raising our flag in the air.

Next to me, Asher stands spattered with pain, a look of disbelief written plainly on her face. She looks up at me, and it changes to worry. "Will you be okay?"

I blink rapidly until I am fully back in reality. Four may have won this game, but I am a Dauntless leader. He has to give it to me, I realize. I am in charge.

"Of course," I reply, a slow smile spreading across my face. "I'll be fine."


	8. Stabbed

_Rewrite time! For anyone who read the Free Four scene, I just added a little bit of the breakfast scene mentioned in that. I won't be updating again until May 13, which is my 3-year anniversary on FFn, so I'll have time to read Insurgent and plot the prequel, which will also be posted that day. Anyway, hope you enjoy this little add-on!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Eight: Stabbed**

**Eric**

I sit alone at the table next to Four's, turning a bran muffin in my scarred hands. My stomach seems to have shrunk overnight, thanks to both withdrawal and the flashback-dream I had, a reliving of my Choosing Ceremony. When I woke up, blood dripped from half-moon marks in my palm, staining my new sheets. The only thing that gets me out of bed is the though that I will win today. He made a mistake in refusing me, and I'm about to prove it to him.

The room quiets, and when I look up I see Max has entered and is heading in my direction. I grin smugly and straighten up…just in time to watch him walk right past me and sit down next to Four. The grin slips from my face.

"Well," Max says. "Stage One is almost over. How are the transfers doing?"

He has no business asking Four. I am in charge.

"For the most part, very well," Four replies carefully. "But there are always a few…"

Max nods gravely. "And have there been any incidents regarding the…?"

The chasm. It is a prime chance to put blame on me, and Four knows it. His eyes flit briefly to mine before he says, "No. Nothing at all."

"Well, that's good." Max nods again, satisfied this time. "But there will be. There always is, especially since-"

I clear my throat loudly, not able to take any more. Max jumps, and when his eyes meet mine I can swear he looks frightened. "Oh. Good morning, Eric."

I stand so I tower over him, narrow my eyes to slits. "The incident you're referring to was a great personal tragedy to me. I'd appreciate it if you not bring it up again." I stride out of the room. Another reason for Four to withhold. Four blames the Instigate, and I blame Four.

~oOo~

I head down to the training room for a day of knife-throwing with the slowly-improving transfers and find I am shaking so badly I cannot stand still. But I must. I turn myself to stone as they enter the room. My resolve weakens when she walks in, still grinning from her victory, but I remain still, only my lips moving.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," I say. My voice sounds…off. I choose to ignore it. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knifes. And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." Nobody moves. "Now!" My yell causes a tidal wave of movement toward the dagger-covered table. Four watches with mild interest, and I glare at him when he isn't looking. On any other day I could demonstrate knife-throwing with ease, but I am not up to it today. "Line up!" I shout when he is finished. The transfers begin to throw. I don't watch them as closely as I should be. I pace behind them, reverting from complete stillness to constant movement to hide my shaking.

After thirty minutes Al is the only one who has yet to at least hit the target. He tries and misses again, and I stride towards him, my anger getting the best of me. "How slow _are_ you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

He turns bright red and throws again. This time isn't any better.

"What was that, initiate?"

"It-it slipped."

"Well, I think you should go get it." I glance at the other transfers, who are staring at us. "Did I tell you to stop?"

I hear the sound of knives hitting the board. Al looks terrified. "Go get it? But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

I smirk at him. "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you. Go get your knife."

"No."

"Why not? Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yes, I am!"

_And I'm afraid of death by withdrawal, but I'm still here, aren't I? _"Everyone stop! Clear out of the ring. All except you." I stare hard at Al. "Stand in front of the target." Once he has complied, I look over my shoulder, staring down my demon. "Hey, Four. Give me a hand here, huh?"

He is wary approaching me. We both know I've gone off the deep end. "You're going to stand there as he throws these knives," I say to Al, "until you learn not to flinch."

"Is this really necessary?" Four says. I wait, considering my answer, as we stare each other down.

"I have the authority here, remember? Here, and everywhere else." His face floods with color. He knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"_Stop_ it."

For a second I think it is Christina speaking, but no, it's the Stiff. "Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of _cowardice_."

"Then it should be easy for you," I say. "If you're willing to take his place."

She is. She stands in front of the board, endures Four's taunting and a nick from the third and final knife. An impressive display. "I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is, but I think that's enough for today." I lower my voice, speaking only to Four. "Well. That should scare them, huh." Turning away, I press my hand to the Stiff's shoulder. "I should keep my eye on you." As I pass Four he grabs my hand, and I feel the slide of cool glass and dry paper against my skin. I have no idea how he managed to write me a note this fast, but I don't care. this is what I've been waiting for. I increase my pace until I am practically sprinting out the door…right into Christina.

"Watch where you're going!" she snaps, turning around. When she sees it's me, her face drains of color. She looks terrified. _Did I do that?_ A sudden pang of guilt shoots through me.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammers, backing away slowly. I reach out, surprising even myself, and lay a hang on her arm.

"It's fine."

She stares with panicked eyes at my hand, and I let it drop back to my side. The vial is still clutched in my other hand. I feel it burning a hole in me.

"Excuse me," I mutter, stepping around her and heading to my room. Clutching my cure, I tightly lock the door. I don't want to set it down for a second, but I have to. I lift the edge of the mirror and slide my hand under it until I find the box that holds my syringe collection. I sink onto the mattress, holding the box and the vial, and try to catch my breath again.

With shaking hands, I uncork the bottle, empty the contents into the syringe. I tie myself off with part of a shirt that used to belong to Christian. Slowly, carefully, I press down, the tip of the needle piercing my skin and pouring its contents into my bloodstream. My free, limp hand brushes a piece of paper-Four's note-and I pick it up and read it:

_You have the authority. Here, and everywhere else._


	9. Visitation

_Just a quick note: Insurgent greatly upset me, and for those who haven't seen it, I rewrote part of chapter 8 due to the release of the Free Four scene._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Nine: Visitation**

**Eric**

The next day passes in a haze of Instigate and high temperatures. Christina wins her fight, but she wins against Al, who is obviously faking it. I shake my head, but don't comment. I am in a good enough mood to leave them alone. And the Stiff wins her fight against Molly. Maybe she won't turn out like Four after all.

Today, however, is Visiting Day, and I can't help stopping by the dorm to give the transfers some help. (Hell, who am I kidding? I just want to see her.) I doubt many of them will see their families. I didn't.

"Attention! I want to give you some advice about today. If by some miracle your families do come to visit you, which I doubt, it is best not to seem too attached. That will make it easier for you, and easier for them. We also take the phrase 'faction before blood' very seriously here. Attachment to your family suggests you aren't entirely pleased with your faction, which would be _shameful_. Understand?"

I don't get much in the way of responses, everyone is too nervous to do much more than mumble. They file out past me. Christina doesn't even glance my way. Trying to get over the unnecessary hurt that bubbles up inside me, I distract myself by halting the Stiff.

"I may have underestimated you, Stiff. You did well yesterday."

"Thank you," she responds. It's obvious she doesn't want to be around me, so instead of keeping her, I head toward the Pit.

I'm not expecting some big reunion or even any kind of acknowledgement, but when I reach the Pit a group of Dauntless by the chasm yell my name loudly. I move towards them: David, Asher, and Ivoree, an artificial redhead who was a Dauntless-born initiate when I transferred. I am raising my hand in greeting when they shift, revealing a fourth, and I freeze. It is Isaac, Christian's brother.

I am cautious approaching them, wondering what someone who chose to stay Amity would be doing in the Dauntless compound. His red clothes look startlingly out of place. He hoists a black leather satchel higher on his shoulder. When I reach them, he won't meet my eyes, just hands the satchel to me.

"I heard you were running low," he mutters, and turns to leave. I slide my hand under the flap and there are three liquor bottles, all washed out and filled with Instigate. _My hero, _I think, but we don't acknowledge each other. I just let him leave. This place has a bad connotation for him. If I'm being honest, I avoid the chasm as much as possible for the same reason he does.

"Well," Ivoree says, leaning on the railing and taking a long pull from a flask. As far as my addiction goes, she is completely in the dark. I'm sure the exchange made no sense to her. "How are the initiates?"

She is talking about the Dauntless-born. I've only spent a few hours with them, amounting to a little observation and one short speech about the purpose of initiation. I shrug. "Lauren's their instructor, not me. I've mostly been with the transfers. But I know Zeke's brother is there. And Shauna's sister."

I will never have a sibling transfer into Dauntless. One, because I am from Erudite, and two, because my mother is an unlovable person. I wasn't even conceived naturally. (I am what Asher jokingly refers to as a 'simulation baby.') But, unlike most people, the thought of being alone doesn't bother me. I've had eighteen years to get used to it.

"My sister'll be an initiate next year," David says. "She'll probably stay in Candor, though."

Asher pouts. "That's not fair. There won't be any initiates from Camp Eric next year."

After the initiation process was over and we were all made members, we unofficially split up into two groups of four friends, based on bonds formed during initiation. The Dauntless-born who'd ranked ninth and tenth were fence guards, and my group (dubbed "Camp Eric," since I was a Dauntless leader), comprised almost entirely of transfers, had only briefly met them. I tend to stay close to my group. They are the only friends I have.

David plucks the flask from Ivoree's hands and tosses it into the chasm. 'You're drunk enough already," he says firmly. She lurches after it, and her whine turns into a scream as she lurches forward, stomach slamming into the railing. She doubles over, and David lunges for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her away from the railing. They are both breathing heavily, panicked, and they won't look at each other.

Asher and I exchange looks, and she jerks her head towards the path. We leave them and head down into the chasm, perching on a rock only a foot above the water.

"What is going on with you?" she demands. "You're not yourself."

I clear my throat. Mist sprays onto my boots. "One of the initiates. A Candor transfer. Her name is Christina."

Over the close roar of the river, I hear her sharp intake of breath. "And?"

"I dangled her over the chasm."

There. I said it. I'd gone too far, admitted to it. She turns to look at me, too stunned to form words beyond "Why?"

"I just…" I stare hopelessly at my hands. Scarred, dirty, thin fingers. Hands that only know how to hurt. "I don't think I could stand anything that reminds me of…you know. They're nothing alike. She survived." I close my eyes, and her face slips over them. "And now I can't get her off of my mind."

This time the sound she makes is a choked laugh. "Well, when you figure that out, let me know." It is silent for a while, and when I open my eyes she is gone, and I am alone in the chasm.


	10. Sighted

_Quick thanks to all who reviewed…PrincessDorkatron42, SilverEyeShinobi, and trobiasforever, and sorry if I didn't reply. I still have finals to take…agh. And I lent our my copy of Divergent, so I might not update again until I get it back. Anyway, here's chapter 10._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Ten: Sighted<br>Eric**

I wake up the next morning thinking about Christina. The ghost of a migraine is starting behind my forehead, but lucky for me, I have a surplus of Instigate hidden behind the mirror. I stumble out of bed and stare at my reflection. Two of the piercings in my lip are bleeding. I scratch the dried blood off with my fingernail, hoist the satchel over my shoulder, and leave the room.

As soon as I'm out the door I run headfirst into Four. His eyes fix on the syringe box in my hand, narrow into a glare. "You seem busy," he says, words clipped, "so I won't keep you long. Edward got stabbed in the eye last night. Be prepared for the fallout." He backs away, clearly disgusted by me. I ignore him, turning instead down a series of deserted hallways, trying to find a place where I can shoot up alone.

It seems I won't have much luck. At the dead end of the last hallway, just out of range of a blue light, someone sits raising a bottle to their lips. I step forward into the light and they freeze. I catch sight of a bruised wrist, tanned skin. Christina.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. In dim illumination I see her open her mouth as if to respond, but she remains silent. I hold out my hand, but instead of giving me the bottle like I expect, she presses a small black container into my palm. I open it and find about a hundred (probably more) little white pills. I know them well: Sighted, a watered-down, solidified, less addictive version of Instigate.

"How did you get this?' I demand, closing the case and holding it up. She bites her lip nervously, and I crouch down so we are at eye level.

"From no one you know." It surprises me how she is able to repress telling the truth, which for some Candor I've met seems to be as instinctual as breathing. But, I remind myself, she isn't Candor anymore. She's dauntless.

"Why aren't you celebrating with your faction-transfer friends? You're in no danger of being factionless." I know she ranked fourth. Word travels fast, especially during initiation.

"No, I'm not," she says, glaring at me, "but I stayed up last night to clean blood off the floor because someone got stabbed in the _eye_." She slumps back against the wall, as if talking about it drained any energy she might have had left. "So I'm not really in a partying mood. Can I have that back?" she asks, nodding at the pill case.

Maybe it's just to annoy her, or maybe I'm desperate for an easy fix, but I shake a few pills into my palm and swallow them dry. She glared at me and snatches the case back. There are two bottles on the floor next to it. One has liquor in it. The other appears to be water…

"You don't need those," I say, motioning to the pill case. Against my better judgment, I reach into my satchel. "I have something better."

There is a part of me that is screaming, that knows this is wrong. But the larger part of me that wants, craves, needs, ignores it.

I take a bottle out of the satchel and break the seal, letting the heavy scent fill the hallway. Hesitantly, she takes it from my hands.

"What is it?" She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. The smell alone is almost as addicting as shooting it up.

"Instigate. Hell and heaven, all in one convenient little bottle. I wouldn't drink it," I say as she raises it to her lips. "You'll die if you do."

"Then what do you do with it?" Her Candor eyes see too much, but they don't see this. I open the box and take out a syringe. Her face drains of color, much like mine did that first time…

_"Are you sure about this?" She wraps a piece of fabric tightly around my bicep, effectively cutting off my circulation._

_"I know what I'm doing," she answers, rolling her eyes. The needle is frighteningly long. She fills the syringe with a murky brown liquid. "Watered-down Instigate," she says in response to my gaze. "If I started you right away with the amount I'm taking, you'd overdose."_

"I'm not sure I want you sticking a needle in my arm…" she protests, but it sounds halfhearted and unsure. I grab the water bottle and fill the syringe, adding a few drops of Instigate. Not much…just enough to ensure she feels it.

_"This shouldn't hurt." I am tied off nice and tight, so I can barely feel my arm. I don't look as it goes it, but I know when it does. The flash of pain is quick and possibly imagined. "It'll take a few minutes to kick in," she says, preparing a second syringe for herself. "But it'll feel good. Trust me."_

_So I sit and wait while she shoots up, and just when I am beginning to doubt her, I feel it._

_And everything changes._

I find the piece of fabric and carefully loop it around her arm. The whole time, she watches me nervously. "This is safe, right?"

'Trust me," I say as the needle slides under her skin. "I know what I'm doing."


	11. Affect

_Okay. Yeah, I know it's been a month…I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am for not updating. One thing after another kind of got in my way, and…well, almost everything here except the first couple paragraphs was written in the past 24 hours. So, first of all, as an apology gift, the BTH playlist is posted on my profile. There are only 8 songs, most of them just about the general theme of the story, and I'm hoping to add more as it progresses._

_So, I'm just gonna talk for a little about the things that have kept me from updating, and then I'll let you get to the story._

_The first thing that happened was that on June 7th at a Dark Days event in Columbus…I met Veronica Roth. And. It. Was. Epic. She was really nice and funny, signed both my books and took a picture with me. So…yeah. A week after that, the 14th, was the one-year anniversary of Black Veil Brides' second album, _Set The World On Fire_. I meant to take the day off writing, because that's just really important to me, but instead I ended up working on an original story that will hopefully be published when finished. Until them, you can read it on my FictionPress profile. A couple weeks ago I won a signed BVB poster on Twitter, and after that…a storm hit. It knocked our power out for 31 hours and our cable/internet for 4 days. And then I bruised my knee (yeah, I know, it's just a bruise, but it covered almost my entire right knee), so I didn't really…move for a while._

_Well, that's that. I'll let you read now. _

_Quick thanks to trobiasforever, who actually cared enough to send me a PM asking whether I was still writing the story. I very much appreciate it._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Eleven: Affect**

**Eric**

The aftereffects of taking Instigate for the first time-even a watered-down version-aren't pretty. When the high wears off, you're left with things I now only experience during withdrawal. The headache is the worst. I haven't yet seen Christina, but there is no doubt in my mind that she has one.

I, on the other hand, haven't felt this good since…well, since my last high. My eyes are wide open, taking in my surroundings clearly. I sit alone in the cafeteria, feeling the burn of the drug in my veins, for once actually enjoying the fact that I am alive.

"Someone looks happy today," a voice remarks sarcastically, and a few seconds later Asher drops into the seat across from me, looking bedraggled. Her artificially blonde hair is loosely tied at the nape of her neck, and, devoid of the usual kohl rims, the circles under her eyes are more obvious than ever. I can't understand it, how someone could be so upset on a day like this.

"What's your problem?" I ask. She doesn't answer, instead leaning around the table to stare at…something. "What happened to your knee?"

I hastily move a black-gloved hand to cover the slowly-yellowing bruise, visible only through the rip in my black jeans. "Nothing. I can't tell her how I got it, or that I hope I'll get another one tonight…since I left an unsigned note in one of the drawers Christina's keeping her things in. I'm counting on the fact that she'll know it's me.

"Bullshit. No way is that nothing. Now are you going to tell me or do I have to force it out of you?"

I slide my hand off my knee and fold them on the tabletop. There's no use not telling her. I know she can keep a secret. Besides, if I don't tell her now, she'll keep pestering me until I do.

I lean forward, indicating that she should do so too, and pitch my voice low. "I saw Christina last night. Alone."

"_Oh_." She raises an eyebrow at me. Of course she'd jump to _that_ conclusion.

"No, not like that." I can't help rolling my eyes at her. "We just-you know that hallway by my room? The dead end?" She nods. "I found her there. We just sat. And talked."

"And shot up," she says accusingly. I open my mouth in a halfhearted attempt to respond, but no words come out. "Don't try to lie to me, Eric Matthews." I flinch at the sound of my (rarely used) surname. "You're in too good a mood _not_ to be high."

She knows me too well. It's times like this when I rethink my decision to transfer with her. "Okay. I shot up. What's your point? You already know I'm a filthy addict."

"I know. It's not you shooting up I have a problem with." She pauses. "Well, I do have a problem, with that, but that's another argument for another day. My problem right now is that you also shot _her_ up."

"How do you know that?"

She narrows her eyes at me, then jerks her head at someone walking into the cafeteria behind me. I turn, barely registering the jolt of shock when I see her-because it's Christina.

I was right to assume that she would look like she felt. Not that she looks bad-quite the opposite, in fact. She always looks good. But I can tell by her expression that she has a headache, and she probably wishes she were somewhere else. Back in the dorm, sleeping it off.

Maybe it was a bad idea to introduce her to Instigate right before Stage Two of initiation started.

But it's too late for regret now. Last night is in the past, and neither of us can do anything to change it. She catches my eye and freezes, causing Will to crash into her. He asks her something-if she's okay, most likely-and she snaps to, tearing her faze away from me before he can figure out who she's staring at. I can't tell whether or not she wishes it hadn't happened. I can only wait and hope she'll be there tonight.

"Hello?" Asher waves her hand in front of my face. "Earth to Eric. Damn, I didn't know you'd get _that_ distracted. Okay. Listen to me." She puts her hands on my shoulders. "She is a faction transfer. You are a Dauntless leader. Whatever sick little fantasy you're playing out in your head is never going to happen."

I shrug out from under her hands, embarrassed at what she's assumed. "Jumping to conclusions, Ash? Remember, I'm innocent until proven guilty."

"Yeah, whatever. Hey," she says, perking up, "are you coming to the rave tonight?"

_Ah, hell_. I'd completely forgotten. Once a month, Camp Eric and some of our older friends threw a party in the abandoned building next to the Dauntless compound. It was loud, pointless, and the best time I ever had. But if there was even a slight chance that Christina would show up…

"I don't know." Her face falls. "I'll try, I promise."

"Yay!" Sometimes I just don't understand how she can change from happy to sad and back again, like a light switch. "Are you gonna drink that?" she asks, nodding at the half-full cup of coffee in front of me.

"Yes." I pick it up and finish it off, ignoring the fact that I've probably scalded my throat. "I have a feeling I'll need it."


	12. Hallway

_I didn't remember how awesome it felt to be working on this story until I started working on it again a couple days ago. I wrote over half of this last night, as soon as I got offline from posting the last chapter. Don't expect every update to be this fast, but I promise I will try harder to get things up. Also, for those of you who looked at the playlist-there's a reference to "Breaking The Habit" in chapter 8, and a reference to the MM song in this one. I also added to chapter 8 after the Free Four story was released, so if you haven' read that, there's a whole new beginning on it. That being said, thank you for all the support, and I hope you like this!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twelve: Hallway**

**Eric**

At this very moment, the rave is going on next door, but it feels as if it could be a world away. I could join them I know. I could forget about this hopeless cause and drink myself into oblivion. It would be worth the hangover I'd have tomorrow morning. But I can't shake the voice in the back of my head-one that sounds strangely like Christian-that keeps whispering _maybe she will show up…maybe she will show up…_

So I sit. And I wait.

I don't have a watch, but judging by the pins and needles in my legs (dammit, Eric, don't think about needles), it's been at least an hour. Probably more. My satchel is ready next to me. One bottle inside, the others still sealed and hidden behind the mirror. I wouldn't risk getting them all out at once, it's too dangerous. Drugs aren't exactly illegal here, but if I get caught, there's no telling what the other leaders will do to me.

I am a slave to my baser instincts. I'm hungry, I eat. I'm thirsty, I drink. I start to feel even the slightest hint of withdrawal, I shove a needle in my arm. (Here I go again. Maybe if I stop thinking about it, the urge will go away) It's not that I _like_ having to do that every time I get a headache bad enough. I don't like the drugs. Really, I don't. But they sure as hell like me.

Just as I'm thinking this and trying not to laugh, I hear footsteps down the hall. I'm scared as hell and paranoid, thinking it's one of the other leaders or Four-God, no-come to tell me off. But no, it's Christina, and even after a day of simulations and headaches she still manages to look…good.

"What did you do to me?" she demands. "You hit me with-whatever that it-and it felt amazing all the way back to the dorm, and I just kind of laid around for a bit thinking how great it was, and all of a sudden I just…crashed." She begins to pace back and forth under the blue light. I follow her with my eyes-turning my head would be too much effort. "And I woke up this morning and I had this God-awful headache that's been following me around all day and-" She stops abruptly, staring at me. I raise an eyebrow in an attempt to prompt her into speaking. "Is this what it's like for you?"

"Is-what?" My voice sounds slightly breathless, like I just ran a mile, even though I haven't moved for over sixty minutes.

"Do you feel like this? When you don't take it?" She pauses, and something seems to click in her mind. "Is that why you were so shitty to us at first-because you were in withdrawal?"

Slowly, I nod, half hoping my admission will scare her away. It doesn't. Instead she sinks to her knees until she's sitting in front of me.

"And it felt like this…all that time?"

The words stick in my throat, and it takes a couple tries to make them come out. "Almost the whole first week."

She looks stunned. I don't blame her. "Wow. No wonder you acted like you did. I can't imagine walking around like that all the time." She shifts so she's sitting next to me instead of across from me. I can feel her closeness, and I'm suddenly short of breath. "Can I ask you something? It's kind of…personal."

"More personal than what you've already asked me?"

She laughs, but it is short-lived. "Yeah, a bit. Were you…on this…when you were an initiate?"

Oh. "I see what you meant by 'personal.'" It's a difficult question, and I'm not quite sure how to answer it. I don't know what she wants me o say. I decide to go with the truth-she'll be able to tell if I'm lying. "Not at first. Another transfer got me hooked. But I had no problem with the needles." My voice turns bitter. "I'd been a simulation test subject all my life."

She sucks in a sharp breath. I hadn't meant for her to know that part. It just-slipped out. "What was that like?"

"Awful. You wouldn't believe the number of times things go wrong before they go right." I slide my hand in the satchel, finger the bottle. "And then I found this, and it was perfect the first time. I was amazed. I didn't even know that was possible. It seemed too good to be true."

She nods like she understands, but I have a feeling she's just trying to be nice. Her eyes flit over to the satchel, the look of longing in them obvious and unmistakable. I know before she opens her mouth what she's going to ask. I wish she wouldn't, but…

"Can we do it again?"

"I…" My hand is out of the satchel as soon as she says it. Honestly, I don't want to share any of my precious stash with her-or anyone. "I don't think that's such a good idea." I try to sound apologetic. "You need all your brainpower for stage two. If you have a headache every morning because you're Instigate-hungover…you're not going to do well."

"I suppose you're right." She looks at me intently. "I'll be here tomorrow night, then."

This isn't right. I feel…excited. I realize I'm actually looking forward to this, and the thought shocks me into standing.

"Are you okay getting back to the dorm on your own?" I ask. When she nods, I start to walk away. "Good, because I have somewhere I need to be."


	13. Rave

_THERE IS AN IMPORTANT A/N AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE READ IT. KTHXBAI._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Thirteen: Rave**

**Eric**

The 'building' next to the Dauntless compound where we hold the raves is a building in name only. More accurately, it's a hollow shell. There's no roof, so moonlight streams in freely, interspersed with the same blue lights that we use in the Pit. Four brick half-walls, cut off at random places above my head, surround me. The one facing the street has a door-sized hole cut out of it. Music blasts through the space, thanks to the stereo system I managed to wrestle out of my old faction. (Being the only son of Erudite's leader occasionally has its perks. Usually, though, all it gets me is a needle to the neck.) It looks exactly the same as any other rave, but somehow it feels…different.

I don't have much time to think about this because the second I enter, Camp Eric descends upon me. Asher looks much better than she did this morning, her hair brushed and the circles under her eyes hidden by black kohl. She's wearing a barely-there black dress and heels, and holding a dark brown bottle of liquor in one pale hand. She throws her arms around me drunkenly, and I have to stumble to regain my balance. David and Ivoree hang back, less intense in their greetings. I've never been as close with them as I have with Asher, who I practically grew up with. When I wasn't being used as a human pincushion, we were inseparable, and that had carried on to our new lives here.

"I'm so glad you came," she mumbles as we untangle ourselves. A few people have been watching me, but when I look at them they pretend not to notice us. I have trouble convincing them that I am a real person as well as a Dauntless leader. "Did she show up?" Asher asks, pulling my attention back to her.

"I don't know what you mean." Normally this subtle cue would have worked on her, but she's obviously more than a little wasted, so she doesn't catch it.

"Christina." She slurs her name, so it comes out 'Chrissina.' "Weren't you supposed to meet her tonight to get high or something?"

She doesn't notice anything amiss about her question, but then again, she wouldn't. However, Ivoree looks shocked, and David's brow is furrowed, like he's thinking hard. "Christina," he says. "I knew a Christina in Candor. Is she the one who transferred to Dauntless?"

"I don't know," I say. "But there's a Candor transfer in this group named Christina, so I'd say there's a safe bet they're the same person."

"What were you doing with her?" He looks suspicious, and I can't say I blame him.

"Just sitting. And talking."

"And shooting up," Asher sings. I elbow her hard in the side. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Your big mouth." I turn back to David. "We didn't shoot up. I only saw her for a few minutes, then I came straight here."

"A few minutes is enough time."

I roll my eyes. "Look, are you really going to believe everything Asher says under the influence?"

For the first time he actually cracks a smile. "I guess not. Remember the one time when-"

"Eric!" Asher says loudly, pressing the bottle into my hands. "Why aren't you drinking?"

"Good question." I tilt the bottle back and let the liquor burn a fiery trail down my throat. I drink several shots' worth, so just a few minutes later I start to feel lighter…less inhibited.

Asher grabs my hand and swings it back and forth as she dances around me. I move in place a little but am mostly still. Even drunk, I am not as uninhibited as she is.

The song changes to something slower and she collapses against me, though hardly anyone else notices the switch in music. Beside us, David and Ivoree stand unusually close, talking in hushed voices. "Eric?" she asks. Her voice has changed-she's having one of her crazy mood swings again-to something mournful.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like Christina more than me?"

I'm as shocked at the question as I am at the fact that she's pronounced Christina's name properly-no slurring involved-so I answer automatically. "No, of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't be like that, Ash. You always get jealous when I'm friends with other girls. You know I don't like it."

"That didn't answer the question."

"Ash." I push her away from me, my hands on her shoulders. "You have been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Nothing Christina and I do is going to change that. She's not replacing you."

"Good," she says, and, slipping out from under my hands, she leans up to kiss me.

_So, first of all, I apologize for the slight delay, but my 'poster' got here…I was a bit distracted, as you can imagine. Second of all, I want to let you know I'll be on hiatus for about a week or so. I'm co-writing a story with The Midnight Moon, and I really need to get the next chapter done. Also, I'll be starting to work on my stories for these important causes:  
>Fandom 4 Suicide Awareness: I think this one is pretty much self-explanatory. There's not much more I can say. I'll be donating a past-take of my story "Paper Flowers."<em>

_Fandom 4 Colorado: This is probably the one you're more interested in. It's wildfire relief, and I'll be donating some outtakes from this story in Christina's POV. This means I won't be posting them on here until Halloween, the earliest date I can publicly post._

_If you're interested in donating to either of these, I'll post links to their websites on my profile. Thanks for hopefully being understanding that I will be busy for the next few weeks._

_-A.l.y._


	14. Again

_Well, the CPOV outtakes are going much quicker than I planned, so I thought it was safe to take a break and write this. I have a little bit on the next chapter, but again, it might be at least a week. As usual, thanks to SilverEyeShinobi and trobiasforever. Now, on to the chapter!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Fourteen: Again**

**Eric**

_I'm strapped to a table in an isolation tank, the lights above me painfully bright. Dark hair falls in my face and I can't brush it away, can't do anything at all. Instead of Erudite blue I wear the white of test subjects; my mother stands above me holding a syringe filled with Instigate, saying "This'll only hurt a bit…"_

I wake with a start, wondering why I had that particular nightmare instead of one more frequently occurring. My head hurts, and I don't know if it's from a hangover or a weak strain of withdrawal. Or both. Something (someone?) warm is pressed against my side. A hand rests on my chest, but it's not mine-too small, the black fingernail polish not chipped enough. I look around in the dim light. There wasn't anything around when I left, but not clothes are strewn across the floor.

Suddenly I realize what it all means. With a growing feeling of dread, I turn and see Asher next to me, still asleep. We're both naked except for the sheets, which are tangled around us. The same thing happens after almost every rave, but I thought we'd decided last time would be _the last time…_

Just as the bitter feeling starts to creep in, she stirs, opens her eyes. "You were having a night terror," she says, almost defensively, when I stare at her. "It woke me up. It was the one about your mom forcing Instigate into you, wasn't it?"

"How did you know that?"

She grins and taps the side of her head. "I keep telling you, I'm psychic."

"Well, you're lucky you didn't mind-read the dream I had last night."

"Oh, really?" She sits up and stretches, all awkwardness-if there ever was any-gone. The friends-with-benefits situation has also been temporarily forgotten. "Was it about me? You know I don't like it when you dream about me behind my back."

I laugh in spite of myself. Asher has the ability to make even the most serious of situations hilarious. "No, it wasn't about you."

"Then what was it about? Do tell." She climbs out of bed and starts sorting through the clothes on the floor, tossing mine at me without looking.

I take a deep breath. This will probably make her mad, but I can't _not_ tell her. "It was about Christina."

She stops to look at me, but she doesn't seem upset. "And?"

"Well, that's pretty much it. Except that it woke me up, too." I raise an eyebrow, hoping she gets the point.

Her eyes widen, and she returns to her task, finding a scrap of black lace and pulling it over her legs, then picking up her dress. "Man, she's really gotten into your head. And I mean that in every way possible."

"Shut up." I start to get dressed, restricting my movements only to what it necessary in order to keep my headache to a dull roar. "I have no idea how to fix this, Asher. I don't think she wants anything to do with me anyway."

"So you want to go back to how it was before, when you were shooting up alone?" She stands, fully dressed, and tosses her hair behind her. I start to respond, but a knock at the door interrupts me. We share a confused look, then she shrugs and opens it.

And there's Four.

Asher, thank God, has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "I need to talk to Eric," Four says, and she replies with "Yeah. Sure. No problem." She leaves, but not before throwing a significant look at me over her shoulder.

Four pulls the chain for the lights and sits down on the edge of the mattress. "I'll never understand your choice in friends," he says, looking after Asher.

"She's not so bad once you get to know her."

He shrugs, like he was just trying to put me at ease and the comment didn't really mean anything. "I need to talk to you."

"I figured as much."

"It's about Christina."

I try to look like this wasn't what I expected. He's probably here to berate me more about the chasm-dangling incident, though it's a little late for that. "What about her?"

'Well, I was administering the tests for Part Two yesterday, and I noticed something…interesting."

I swallow hard. _Please don't give me another reason to want to kill you._ "And what would that be?"

'There was Instigate in her system."

Hell. "And so you immediately thought of me."

"There's no one else around who uses. At least, not that would be in regular contact with her."

"Look, I have a limited supply. I'm not going to give it all away to transfers."

"That's what I thought. So I asked her."

I inhale sharply. Christina was Candor. That means she's probably a bad liar. "And?"

"She denied it. I'll believe her-for now. But if this happens again, I have ways of making her tell the truth."

For a second I think he means he's gotten ahold of truth serum, but that's nearly impossible for someone not in Candor. He's just underestimating her stubbornness. "There's nothing to tell."

"We'll see. Well, I really don't want to be here any longer than necessary, so I'll leave you to your vices." He throws me a disgusted look and shuts the door behind him while I sit there in shock.


	15. Covet

_I put a link to my YouTube channel with the BTH playlist-all the songs in the playlist are there._

_I really don't have anything else to say, so I'll leave you to it._

_trobiasforever, you are da bomb. Or something._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Fifteen: Covet**

**Eric**

I don't wait for Christina on the floor, as per usual. Instead I pace back and forth, from the dead end to the blue light, for what feels like forever but can't have been more than twenty minutes. My satchel is on the floor, but there's only a vial of Instigate in it, enough for one dose-which I fully intend to be mine. I will tell her that we can't do this anymore, she will leave, and I will shoot up alone.

The second I see her, my resolve almost breaks. She's in a black top that hangs off one shoulder, and tight black pants. I realize she's probably gotten dressed just for me, and the thought affects me in ways I can't even begin to describe. I am immensely gratified…and at the same time I want to rip the clothes off her. This shocks me. It shouldn't. I can pinpoint the exact moment my interest in her morphed into sexual desire-the second she felt the full effect of Instigate. Because everything I feel, every thought I have, is tied to it.

She's fully prepared, a bottle of water in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. "I'm not going to ask where you got the booze," I say, nodding at it. "But you should probably take it back."

She rolls her eyes. "You can't possibly be serious. Four got to you, didn't he?"

I stop pacing and stare at her. She's tall-almost my height. If she were wearing heels we would be at eye level. "You can't possibly be serious about throwing away your chance of becoming Dauntless for a few drops of a drug."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you. The filthy addict, trying to be a good little Dauntless role model."

I ignore the strange oxymoron that is the phrase 'Dauntless role model.' "I never said I was. What I'm saying is that it already controls my life. I don't want it controlling yours too."

She bites her lip-almost as if she's debating whether or not to tell the truth. "It was…difficult for me today, going without it. It was entirely out of my system, so Four didn't say anything to me, and that was good. But the headache just got worse and worse. I don't know if it's form this or whatever he's injecting me with, but-what's up with you?" she asks, finally noticing that I look horrified.

"You shouldn't still have a headache. That's something only a budding addict would-" I break off abruptly. Pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together in my head. "How long were you using Sighted before you came here?"

"Not long. A few months, maybe. We had it at parties a lot. The adults were okay with it as long as no one overdosed or got hooked, and we didn't try to lie about it. Why? Do you think it has something to do with this?"

"It definitely has something to do with this. Sighted is basically watered-down Instigate in pill form. An oral version of what I gave you two nights ago. Instigate-and Sighted-were originally intended as painkillers. Instigate for hospitals and Sighted for home use. But because of their addictive qualities, they were both banned, even though Sighted is weaker-but in recreational doses you can get hooked just as easily."

"How did you know all that?"

"I was a test subject, remember? I was never tested on Instigate, but my mother helped develop it. I was too young to be part of the study."

"Oh. So…what you're saying is…I'm addicted to Sighted."

"There's a pretty safe bet you are, even if you're still in one of the lower stages of addiction."

"And it'll make me more likely to get hooked on Instigate."

"Without a doubt."

"Oh." We sit down in complete silence, not looking at each other until she asks "So who's your mom?"

"What?"

"Your mother. If she was helping create a hospital-level painkiller, she must be pretty important. So who is she?"

I'm at a loss. If I tell her, I risk alienating her based on my mother's actions. If I don't, I alienate her because of mine. I answer her question with a question. "Well, how many truly important Erudite are there?"

"How do you expect me to know? I wasn't Erudite, former genius."

I suppose the nickname is meant to sting, but it doesn't. "But you've heard of her. Especially if you've been defending your little Stiff friend against Erudite's reports."

"What? You mean those awful pieces of trash released by-" She sucks in a sharp breath, looking at me. Her eyes search my face and find the truth there. "Jeanine Matthews."

I nod. "I was born Eric Branson Matthews. The doctor who made sure I survived named me after himself, like he would've done for his son if he ever had one. She was already too busy hours after giving birth to even name me." I laugh humorlessly. "That should explain why I transferred. She always treated me like a test subject and never like her son."

I'm watching carefully for any signs of disgust, but to my surprise, I find none. "Who was your father? Was he brainwashed? I can't imagine anyone actually wanting to have sex with _that_."

"No one did. I don't have a father."

"Really? I've heard of that, but I never met one."

"Could you please stop looking at me like I'm a science experiment?"

"Make me."

I surpress a sigh. She's not going to leave until she gets what she wants. I look down at the bottle of water that's somehow made its way into my hand. "This is the last time," I tell her, resigned, as I prepare the syringe.

"Yeah, I doubt that."

As I slide the tip of the needle under her skin, something on her shoulder catches my eyes. A bandage. "You got a tattoo."

"Yesterday. Of the Dauntless seal."

I trace the skin around it, a little hesitantly. Our eyes meet, and I realize that maybe it wasn't the drug that brought us here.


	16. Accuse

_I hate to tell you this, but I think this'll be the last update for a bit. I mean it this time. I've got Fandom donations to finish, summer homework to do, and school starts in about a month. It breaks my heart not to work on this, but I have other commitments to honor. That being said, thanks to trobiasforever and SilverEyeShinobi for reviewing (yeah, yeah, what else is new). And I apologize for leaving you with this cliffhanger._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Sixteen: Accuse**

**Eric**

I wake pale and covered in cold sweat from another nightmare, this one of a particularly gruesome Dauntless death that happened sometime in the past year. They're getting more and more frequent, and I can't help but wonder if they're the direct result of Instigate or if being overstressed is the problem-because I definitely am that. I'm still reeling over last night's revelation and the thought that I might have feelings for Christina has thrown me completely off-guard. Even more disturbing, though, is the fact that she might reciprocate those feelings. I don't understand it, because I am unlovable.

This thought consumes me as I sit alone in the cafeteria, trying to look as if I don't notice the poorly-disguised stares I'm getting from the other Dauntless. Asher is conspicuously absent-I wonder if she somehow knows I saw Christina again-but David and Ivoree spot me as soon as they walk in, and they join me. They're awfully close to each other on the bench…maybe I missed something.

"Do you think it's possible," I say once they've sat down, "for someone to be in love with me?"

Ivoree chokes on her coffee trying not to laugh, but David looks thoughtful.

"Well, once they got over your complete lack of likeable qualities, sure."

"I'm being completely serious."

"I know," he says, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "But so am I. There are good things about you, Eric, but you never let people in enough to see them."

Ivoree nods as she peels the wrapper back from a muffin. "The only times you're ever truly acting like yourself are with Asher." She looks up, suddenly more interested. "Why? Do you think Asher could be in love with you?"

"No! Of course not. We've been friends for as long as either of us can remember. It would just be awkward." I choose not to mention the recent incident. Or the ones before it.

"I guess you're right," she says, biting her lip. "Who, then? Anyone I know?"

David is glaring at me, his brown eyes rimmed in kohl-though not as heavily as Asher and I tend to apply it. One might think he doesn't look the part of a Dauntless-he is naturally tan, his lips are too full for his face, his hair's always messed up-and then he goes and pulls an expression like that out on you.

"No, I don't think you know her," I respond carefully, trying to be vague. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I'm not even sure exactly how she feels about me."

"Well, we know how she feels about your stash," David mutters. I kick him under the table.

"Guys!" Asher drops into the open seat next to me, holding a tray of food. "Did you start talking about last night without me?"

"What happened last night?" Ivoree asks.

"That's what I'd like to know." Asher turns to look at me expectantly. Sensing David's oncoming meltdown, I try to avoid the question. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. We all know where you were last night."

"I don't," Ivoree complains. I feel a slight twinge of guilt that she is so often left out of the loop.

"It's not something you want to know, trust me."

"Oh, _can it_, David."

"Sorry, Your Dauntless Leadership. Or should I say Your Royal Stonerness?"

"Shut up!" Asher yells, bringing her hands down on the table. A few people turn to look at her, but not many. "David, stop being a jackass. Eric…nothing I say is going to help you. You're beyond help." She rolls her eyes, but I see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Wait, I still don't get it." Ivoree looks from me to David to Asher and back again. "What's Eric doing?"

David gives me a look. "If you won't tell her, I will," he says, turning to her. "Eric's been having secret meetings with an initiate, a Candor transfer named-" He cuts off abruptly, focusing on something over my shoulder. "Christina."

He says her name at normal speaking volume, and the room is full of Dauntless chatter, but she turns toward us like she heard him. Her eyes land on me first, flit away, and widen when they settle on him. She starts toward our table after a few placating words to Will, who looks at us like we're a pack of wolves waiting to devour her. Her wave turns into a hand pressed against her forehead in the very same spot I get withdrawal headaches.

"David!" she says upon reaching the table. He gets up from his seat and hugs her (I try to pretend the sight doesn't make me seethe with jealousy). "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?" I am confused, then I realize: David is a Candor transfer. He actually mentioned knowing Christina at the rave. "But I didn't know you'd transferred until a couple days ago." He introduces her to Ivoree (who is polite) and Asher (who is trying not to laugh). When he reaches me, cold formality enters his tone.

"I think you already know Eric, right?"

"Yeah. He observed us in Stage One." She doesn't mention Instigate, or that I dangled over the chasm-though she seems to have forgotten all about the latter. "Hi, Eric."

"Hey." When her eyes finally lock on mine, there is a question in them. I shake my head, moving as little as possible and praying David doesn't notice."

"Well," she says, trying back to him, "I should probably go. I think my friend is about to explode." she glances over her shoulder at Will, who continues to stare at us in disbelief. "We should hang out some time, after this whole initiation thing is over." Following a quick smile and wave, she heads back to her table. David sits down and starts buttering a piece of toast, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"I didn't realize you meant _that_ Christina. There's more than one in Candor, you know."

"What?"

"Well, it's a pretty common name, and-"

"No, why is it so significant that it's _that_ Christina?"

"Oh. Easy." He shrugs. "We used to date."

_**I'M PUTTING ANOTHER A/N AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE IT'S IMPORTANT. I AM LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE A BANNER FOR "FLAWED DESIGN," THE CPOV OUTTAKES FROM THIS STORY THAT I'M DONATING TO FANDOM 4 COLORADO. IF YOU OR ANYONE YOU KNOW CAN MAKE A BANNER, PLEASE CONTACT ME VIA PM. AND NO RUSH, BUT I NEED IT BY FRIDAY AUGUST 3. THANKS.**_


	17. Deny

_This is the part where I once again apologize for being gone so long…school started and my 3 AP/Honors classes, not to mention other stuff I'm taking, sort of got in the way. I had my first boyfriend and my first breakup in less than 3 weeks, so I think I set a record…anyway. I just sent in the outtakes for the Fandom 4 Colorado compilation, and those can be officially posted here on October 31. So if you don't have me on author alert but would like to read them, I would add me if I were you, or I will try to also post a chapter that same day. The outtakes will be in a story called "Flawed Design."_

_SilverEyeShinobi and trobiasforever, you guys kick major ass, thanks for sticking with me even though I am the Procrastinator Extraordinaire. And sorry this chapter is so short. I'll get the next one up ASAP. :P_

_-A.l.y._

_PS. If you're looking for a laugh…I recently updated my profile with some amusing Andy quotes. Check it out. Right now. Go._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Seventeen: Deny**

**Eric**

"_What_?"

He shrugs again, completely unconcerned. "Yeah. For about a year," he says, his mouth full of toast. After he swallows and sets the rest of it down, he continues: "We broke it off after I transferred. I thought she would stay in Candor with Naomi," he explains, referring to his sister. "Obviously, she didn't."

"And you're sure you knew nothing about it?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"Looks like somebody's jealous," Asher sings. When I glare at her, she looks away and innocently shoves half a muffin in her mouth.

"I didn't have the faintest idea she transferred until you mentioned her at the rave," David says, drawing my attention back to him. "And even then I wasn't sure it was the same Christina." He raises an eyebrow, a superior look on his face. "If it makes you feel any better, you're completely welcome to her now."

For a moment I wonder if I am the only one who sees his gaze flick to Ivoree, but then Asher and I lock eyes and I'm sure she's noticed it too.

"That must be such a relief," she says, sugar-coating her voice to the point where it makes me nauseous. "Knowing she's only got one other boyfriend."

"Shut up, Asher."

"I was just kidding." She immediately drops the act, looking hurt. I'm the only one who can tell she's faking: Ivoree and David are glaring at me.

"You don't have to waste your death stares on me," I snap. It's all too much, there's no one truly on my side now, not even Asher really understands. "I can take a hint."

I push myself away from the table, force myself one foot in front of the other one even though I feel a fissure opening inside me. I'm utterly alone. None of them are going to come after me. David won't apologize and Asher is hovering unsteadily on the razor edge between _me_ and _them_. Even I can't tell which side she'll tip over.

Lost in thought, I leave the cafeteria without bothering to look where I'm going. As a result I run straight into someone…Four. Because that's just what I need to brighten my day. He doesn't duck around me with a disgusted expression as he usually would. Instead he grabs my arm, ignores my protests, drags me to a deserted corner by the chasm. I jerk away and cross my arms, leaning against the wall.

"Desperate to talk to me, eh, Tobias? If you wanted my company that badly, you know my price." My old bravado is returning; I feel my lips curl into a familiar smirk. "I'm not asking much. Just enough for a needle. Maybe I'll even share it with you."

"Shut up." I barely see him move but I feel my back hit the wall, hard, leaving bruises through my leather best. The smile drops from my face, and all the hatred I have for him comes rushing back in a floor. My hands itch to throw him over the railing, get rid of him once and for all. But I can't, I remind myself bitterly. I need to stay in control.

"You know, Eric," he threatens quietly, hands locked around my upper arms. "Believe it or not, I've been around you long enough to be able to tell when you're high. I know all of Instigate's telltale signs." His eyes narrow to accusing slits. "And that applies to everyone who uses it."

I swallow down any retort I might have made, determined not to give her-or me-away. His eyes are practically closed, he's glaring at me so hard.

"Christina looks good today."

"She always does." I clamp my mouth shut immediately. I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out. But he's hit my weak spot and he knows it.

"And you've noticed that?"

_Hell._ I do what I do best-turn it back around on him. "And how's Tris today?" I ask. My voice is poison disguised as honey: I sound sincere, but we both know I only mean to hurt.

"I wouldn't know." His hands tighten: I've struck a nerve. "Don't change the subject. You and Christina shot up last night. I can tell. She keeps rubbing her forehead like she's got a headache."

Ah, headaches. The dead giveaway of the closest Instigate addict. "How do you know it's not from the simulation injections?"

"I don't know for sure. But in all the time I've been administering the simulations I've never once had anyone get a headache that bad from them."

"And a whopping one year of experience makes you qualified to say that?" I don't bother to hide the venom in my voice. Why should I, when he already knows it's there?

"Don't contradict me." I start to lose feeling in my arms. They're so thin his fingers overlap, pressing against my scars. "I just want you to say it, Eric. Look me in the eye and tell me she's not wrapped around your goddamn needle just like you are."

This I can answer. My eyes lock onto his, more blue and less gray than mine. "I'm not making her into an addict, I swear."

He starts to answer, but his watch beeps, and he lets go of my arm to check the time. _Time for Stage Two_. His threatening glare says "This isn't over," but he doesn't make a sound as he walks away and leaves me rubbing my arms.

"No, I'm not making her into an addict," I repeat to myself quietly. "Only she can do that."


	18. Confess

_Agh, so I know I'm a terrible person for not updating since September. It's a long story, and I don't really want to go into it. So thanks for putting up with me, and thanks for all the reviews from SilverEyeShinobi (as usual), Miss Bookworm303, and bettyt18. I hope the chapter is to your satisfaction, even if it is a bit short. I promise I will try to update more, but I can't promise when since I have a huge project due next week and exams to study for =/_

_-A.l.y. _

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Eighteen: Confess**

**Eric**

I can barely remember a time when I wasn't spending every night in this deserted hallway. It's become my life, the only thing I truly look forward to. The perfect combination-Christina and Instigate. I know I should feel guilty, should consider kicking the habit and living a clean life.

But I don't. So here we are.

I skipped wearing a shirt because of how badly Four managed to bruise me up when he shoved me against that wall (not that I'd admit it to him). I can't tell how Christina feels about this. It's too dark to really see her face, and besides that, I've never met a Candor so good at hiding her feelings. We've barely said two words to each other-she drinks the majority of a bottle of liquor and I finish off a pack of cigarettes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. She hasn't brought up Instigate, but I'm counting down the seconds until she does.

"Four interrogated me again today." Her voice is rough from silence and alcohol. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

"And?" I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, but at the back of my mind there's still a little nagging voice, fueled by addiction, that is ready to silence her if she did.

"I denied, of course." She sits the bottle down and pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. "He let it drop. But I could tell he didn't believe me. He might go to the authorities-" She breaks off, staring at me. "You're the authorities."

"That didn't stop him from attacking me this morning." I lean forward in the light, so the bruises on my back are faintly illuminated. I hear her sharp intake of breath, and then-shocking me into silence-the tips of her thin fingers on my skin, tracing around scrapes and dried blood.

"How did this happen?" she asks quietly.

"He shoved me against a wall while he was threatening me.

"Oh." I look over my shoulder at her. Lips parted, she stares at me with an expression somewhere between disbelief and anger. "I suppose I should be surprised that he would do that."

"But…" Her eyes snap up to mine, and she grins faintly. "But I'm not."

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she lets her hand drop, and I shift to sit with my back to (but not against, that would hurt too much) the wall. The cigarette I dropped, one line of white between the flame and the filter, still smolders. I put it out with my boot.

"What's in it for you?" she asks suddenly. "I mean, why are you doing this?" A wide, sweeping gestures encompasses us and the entire hallway. "Just because you can? What am I to you?"

I stare at her as her arms fall limply back to her sides. Of all the directions this conversation could have gone…

"If I knew, I would tell you. I mean it," I say as she opens her mouth to protest. "But I don't know. A bit part of it is this"-and I hold up the satchel, which sags under the weight of the bottle in it-"and you."

"But those are the only parts. This, and me. And you." She's been grinning, but it starts to slip off her face. "What about me?"

I can't answer that. I would give away feelings I'm not even sure I have. "Do I have to have a reason?" I say instead.

"I suppose not." She bites her lip, her eyes flick to me and quickly away again. "So you just have no reason?"

"No, I have reasons. Just not ones I'm telling you."

She grins again, the seriousness of the conversation temporarily forgotten. "What do you do when you're not here? Besides get attacked by guys with numbers for names, I mean." She pokes my side.

"Not much. The other leaders have meetings. I don't go to them. I don't belong there. I just…sit around. Smoke and drink all day, shoot up all night." I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She appears to be thinking hard about something.

"You should go to one of the meetings," she says, surprising me.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe they would take you more seriously. They leave you out. I see them all together, the other leaders, and you're never there. I think they would include you in more decisions if you showed up."

I stare at her in shock. She's trying to help me with my problems. I don't know what makes me do it…but I reach out and pull her against my chest, my lips in her hair.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I feel her smile, and some of the tension slips from her body. "No problem," she says. "So, can we shoot up now?"


	19. Adore

_Oh, wow, guys. That's all I have to say. After three months of not updating, your outpouring of support was just incredible. Thanks especially for the reviews from bettyt18, entrada, LolaBleu, and Miss Bookworm303, and to everyone who alerted/favorited the story. For those who don't know, there's a playlist and list of characters on my profile. I just added one of my personal favorite songs to the playlist: "I'm Not A Vampire" by Falling In Reverse. Don't be misled by the title-I immediately thought of Eric when I first heard it._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Nineteen: Adore**

**Eric**

It's almost three in the morning when I unlock the door to Asher's room (I've had a key for as long as we've been Dauntless). I hear her deep, even breathing and know she's asleep. In one dim blue light, I know how her room is laid out, can anticipate obstacles until I bump into the side of the mattress. I climb onto it, shake her gently until she blinks and a small noise escapes her mouth. Her breathing changes, so I know she's awake, but she remains completely still. However, I still feel movement…and since I'm frozen in shock, that leaves only one option:

There is someone else in the bed with her.

I scramble backwards until my feet hit the floor again and from there make my way to the chain to pull the lights. Bright blue illuminates the room. I have to blink nonstop for a minute before I can see clearly. Asher is sitting up, stretching away sleep, barely clothed in scraps of black. Devoid of eyeliner, she looks sixteen again, back when our only concern was how to sneak out and meet each other. Next to her, someone with tan skin and brown hair holds a hand in front of his eyes. Even without seeing his face, I recognize him instantly: David.

"What the hell?" My voice scratches in my throat, scrapes its way out. He stands up, squinting against the light. Like me, he is shirtless but otherwise clothed.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says, arching an eyebrow. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not that I know of." I pray he doesn't notice the new puncture mark on the inside of my arm, or the dirt on my palms from pushing myself off the dusty ground. "But you're obviously busy, so I'll come back later.

"Wait?" Asher pushes herself up to her feet. She's unsteady, sleep-drunk and not fully awake. She stumbles over and puts her hand on my shoulder, her full weight on me. "David, go 'way," she slurs.

"No, I'll go," I say. "I know when I'm not wanted."

She glares at me with surprising ferocity for someone so small. "You stay." She rounds on David, and the frown deepens. "You go."

His expression doesn't change, but I know he's mad at me. "Fine." He snatches his shirt off the floor and stalks out of the room. Asher lowers herself to the bed, grinning wryly.

"That's the problem with people you've known since birth," she observes. "They can read you like a book and play you like a…" She trails off, creases appearing in her forehead.

"Like a…" I prompt.

"Oh, I don't remember. Don't listen to me. I'm drunk. So how was your date?"

"Not a date," I mutter. "Fuck it, something's wrong with me, Ash, and I don't know what it is."

She sits up and looks at me curiously, running her fingers through her hair. I look down at my own hands. They are shaking and dirty, the nails painted chipped black. "You're high," she says, grabbing one of my hands between hers. Her fingers trail up my arm and press on the newly reopened injection site. "Recently high. You've been using a lot more than you usually do. When was the last time you shot up before this?"

"Dammit, I don't know. A couple days ago?"

"You're going to overdose if you keep this up. Lay off the liquid love, sweetheart. I know withdrawal isn't pretty, but it's better than death."

"Or so you think."

"Think? Remember, I'm highly intoxicated. How long since your last flashback?"

"I-" Normally, my answer wouldn't have been any longer than a week ago, but since Christina…I can't remember having one since the first time we shot up together. The realization that I'm thinking in terms of 'before Christina' and 'after Christina' is jarring and terrifying. It starts me shaking again, worse than before.

"Ric? Eric? Lay down, okay? Don't have a panic attack. This is a good thing. You're finally living in the present, right? That's what you've wanted for years. You're leaving your past behind. Don't pass out, Eric, you'll get me in trouble."

She hovers over me anxiously until my breathing regains a normal rate, and I can see straight. My hands still shake as I push my hair back from my face, catching strands on piercings. "I can't lose her, Ash, I can't forget her."

"And you won't."

"But I am."

"Look," she sighs impatiently. "You're obviously delusional. Do you need, like, a smoke or something?"

"That sounds good." My whole body aches, and it hurts to move. I sit up slowly, wincing with every motion. Asher lights a cigarette, puts it in my hand and raises it to my lips. I settle into an inhale-exhale rhythm, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling.

"You need to find yourself again." She sits across from me, knees pulled against her chest, in a position so similar to Christina's in the hallway that I find I have to look away.

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Don't worry." Her lips curl slowly into her trademark wicked grin. "I know exactly where to go."


	20. Fight Club

_Okay, so yesterday I was all like "How cool would it be to update on 12/12/12? Really cool, if I didn't live with a family of computer hogs." I've had this finished for a couple days but never got a chance to post it. And did anyone see the entire 121212 concert? I passed out around 10-ish and have the rest recorded, but not had time to watch it yet. I really want to see this Paul-McCartney-fronts-surviving-members-of-Nirvana thing (R.I.P. KURT COBAIN. YOU ARE MISSED.). So I'll probably watch it tomorrow. Anyway, thanks to Miss Bookworm303 and LolaBleu for reviews. I'll have the next chapter up tomorrow, hopefully, as it's already finished._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty: Fight Club**

**Eric**

I spend the next day holed up in Asher's room while she tends sloppily to the bruises on my back. By the next night I've been disinfected and bound. The Instigate high hasn't quite worn off yet, which makes Asher's theory of eventual overdose that much more likely. In addition to that, I'm loaded up on painkillers, so much that I can't feel a thing. It's all well and good, though, because I'll need them to make it through a night in the Lion's Den.

The Den is the lowest part of the compound. It has three roughly hewn stone walls and a fourth of iron bars. If you look out, you're only two feet above the chasm, and sometimes white water sprays up with such a force that everyone inside gets drenched. It's a hideout for the Dauntless who thrive on violence and adrenaline. A year ago, I was here almost every night, fighting for drugs to numb the mental pain. Now I return seeking the person I used to be, and there's as good a chance as any that he's trapped within these walls.

Asher grips my hand loosely, swinging our arms back and forth as she strains to see above the crowd. My height gives me an advantage. I have a perfect view of the fight. Two men with sleeve tattoos and black hair are circling each other warily. Both are bloody and bruised. One launches at the other, and they become a tangle of limbs and angry yells. I try to narrate for Asher as best as I can, but it's no use: the fight is over in seconds, when the shorter one gets pinned. Red, the announcer (_we used to shoot up together, remember? Funny how things just slowly fade away_) raises the winner's right hand and presses something into his left. I can tell right away it's not Instigate, bur if I fight, and win…

"Alright," Red yells, "who's next?" The audience screams out a chorus of names, but ultimately a boy only a year or two older than me gets pushed into the ring. I let go of Asher's hand and shove through the crowd. Shouting turns to awed and fearful whispers as I cross the unofficial boundary of the fighting space. Red stares in shock for a second and then grins.

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up." He motions me forward and turns to the crowd. "For those of you who don't know, this is Eric-leader of the Dauntless!" The Den bursts into cheers. Asher, who has worked her way to the front of the crowd, screams obscenities at the top of her lungs.

Red claps me on the back. Thanks to a combination of Instigate and painkillers, I don't feel a thing. "Good to have you back," he mutters as he steps out of the ring. "Alright, the rules are simple. You've got five minutes. First one to get pinned for five seconds loses. If your five minutes are up and there's no winner, we move on to the tiebreaker." The whole room shudders at once. "You ready?"

My opponent and I look at each other, and I nod.

"Alright…begin!"

He wastes no time. My opponent lunges towards me. I step aside at the last second, then turn around and sweep-kick his legs out from under him. He lands sprawled on the floor, but despite what must have been a painful blow, he's back on his feet quickly.

Everything fades out and I'm running on pure adrenaline as I dodge his attacks, sometimes throwing in a few of my own. I have to win, I have to. If I do, I prove to myself and everyone here that I'm still Dauntless, still their leader and intimidating as ever. Christina's comments about the other leaders failing to include me in their decisions ring in my ears, adding fuel to the fire of my hatred. I never really wanted to be a leader. The position was forced upon me, along with all the dangerous tasks that go with it. But now that I am one, the Dauntless leadership appears to have shrunk to four positions. I can't love without taint anymore, everyone I love dies. I'm a pathetic good-for-nothing addict posing as a conspirator, a leader, a friend, a confidant, someone mysterious and dangerous. But I'm not any of that. I'm worthless.

I don't know what happens after that thought enters my mind. The next minute or two are a blur of blood and pained groans. I regain awareness to the deafening roar of the Den and Red holding my hand in the air. Asher leans against one of the stone walls, grinning wryly. I make my way to her, clutching my prize vial of lifeblood in my hand.

"How did I do?" I slip the vial into my pocket. Already I know exactly what I'm going to do with it.

"You went bugfuck on that guy." She pauses, and her face splits into a wide smile. "It was _awesome_."

I lean against the wall behind her and watch several more fights, listening to her commentary. My mind wanders off, and I find myself thinking of last night. Christina is dangerously close to understanding me, and the idea is horrifying. I rarely bare my soul to anyone, and of the two people who do know me, one is dead and one is slipping through my fingertips.

"Hey." Asher pokes my side. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and for the first time I feel the full extent of my recent injuries. "See that girl?"

I follow her gaze to a tiny little thing with dyed-blue hair that looks away nervously when my eyes land on her.

"She's been staring at you ever since you showed up." She pushes me away gently. "Go get 'er."

I make my way through the crowd, Asher following me at a distance. The girl starts when I appear behind her. I am almost nervous, but then I remember: I am a Dauntless leader. And I get whatever I want.

"Did you enjoy the fight?" I pitch my voice low, and drape an arm around her. She looks up at me and smiles anxiously.

"It was great. You were great."

"Only great? Hmm. I was hoping for better." She blushes and ducks her head. I lean down to whisper in her ear. "Have you ever fucked a Dauntless leader?"

I can tell she wasn't expecting me to be this direct. "N-no."

Pause, during which I resolve to the course of action I've already set myself on. "Do you want to?"

"Ah, hell," Asher whispers behind me. "Not again. He's back, ladies and gentlemen. Mothers, better lock your doors and hide your daughters. Eric's back."


	21. Crash

_Well, as promised, here's the next chapter. It's a bit of an anticlimactic dialogue thing, but I hope you enjoy it. I needed to write something easy after that last chapter. Thanks a bunch to entrada for reviewing!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Crash**

**Eric**

_The dream starts the same. I'm wearing test-subject white in an isolation tank, this time with an IV feeding Instigate in my arm. It runs through my veins in place of blood, makes my heart beat out a painfully irregular rhythm. My mother is absent, though: Christian stands next to me, hair and clothes dripping wet. In her hand she clutches a broken section of railing from the chasm. Tears, somehow discernible from the water, stream down her face, and she repeats "Why did you forget? Why didn't you come back for me?" until I'm going to die..._

The lights flick on and I snap awake, breathing heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. The girl I was with last night (_what was her name? Dammit, Eric, I don't know, one of those common Dauntless names, and stop fucking talking to yourself_) seems to have left, but Asher perches on the dresser across the room, fingering the chain that controls the lights.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she says, standing up. "Your little sex toy left about an hour ago. Boy, was she mad to find me sitting here. You okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," I say, but when I sit up the room starts to spin around me. I barely make it to the bathroom before the contents of my stomach make a sudden reappearance, followed by a round of dry heaving that's almost worse. Asher follows and dutifully holds my hair back, and for a moment I feel like my old self again, in the worst way possible.

"She had something on her," Asher explains. "I don't know what it was, but you shot it up with no hesitation. You drank, too, and took a lot of pills. Whatever it was, it didn't mix well with Instigate. You've been tossing and turning all night."

"Great." I replace my sixth and final lip ring, having taken care to clean each of them. "Wait, were you there the whole time?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I was going to go back to my room, but David was waiting to ambush me." She returns to her perch on the dresser, exhaling in a sigh. "He wants all to exclude you. Thinks that maybe if you're alone you'll start to rethink your life. Why on earth did we have to be friends with someone who has _morals_?"

"Did he really say that?"

"Not in those words, but the sentiment was there."

"So you stayed here all night?"

"There wasn't much of a choice."

"You could've gone to Ivoree's."

"But she'd take his side. Trust me, I did not want to be here. I saw things last night that I'll never be able to unsee."

"You never had any problem seeing them before."

"That's a completely different situation. It doesn't count."

There's something off about her, but I'm so hungover I can't figure out what it is. She looks normal-bleached blond hair parted down the center, eyes rimmed in dark kohl, dressed in one of her skimpy outfits. She's being a sarcastic bitch as usual. But I know her too well to buy that nothing's wrong.

"What's up?" I stumble over to the dresser-no small feat for someone on the beginnings of an Instigate headache-and loop my arms around her.

"Nothing's up." She tries to squirm away, but I am instistant.

"Don't lie to me, Ash. I don't like it when you lie."

She bites her lip nervously. "You'll get mad at me if I tell you."

"No, I won't. Promise."

I can tell she doesn't believe me, and she's right not to. "Fine. You keep saying all this shit about how you need to find yourself again."

"Yeah..."

"Well, I think you already did. You just refuse to admit it."

I'm stunned. The addiction-fueled part of my brain whispers that maybe she's just trying to piss me off. She's done it before. The semi-rational part, however, knows she's serious.

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to control my voice.

"You're mad."

"I won't be if you explain yourself."

"Well, think about it. I haven't seen you this close to happy in years, especially after what happened during initiation-"

"Wow. Thanks for reminding me."

"Dammit, Eric, would you let me finish? Okay. So you're sort of happy now. I'm not sure how much of that has to do with drugs and how much has to do with you-know-who. But you shouldn't be trying to change it."

"Okay. Now I'm mad."

"I knew it!"

"But I understand what you're saying."

She freezes. I know she didn't expect that. But my bellicose nature is slowly slipping away.

"Well. Thank you for listening."

"No problem."

We've run out of words, so for the next hour or so we just stay there in total silence, arms around each other, and think of how things used to be.


	22. Burn

_Oh, wow, guys. This is the most reviews I've had in…well, a few chapters, to be honest, but it seemed like so much when I checked my email =) Thanks a bunch to Lola Bleu, Miss Bookworm303, entrada, and PrincessDorkatron42 for being kickass and actually giving a shit about what I write. I have a couple things to say, for the nerds who actually read these A/Ns. First of all, I just posted the first outtake from this story under the title "Flawed Design." I've got three CPOV outtakes written, because I did it for a fandom cause back in September. I just kept forgetting to post them :P Also, be on the lookout for another Eric-centric fic co-written by me and my partner in crime, TheBreakfastGenie. Weird shit will happened. Be prepared._

_Also be prepared to go a little longer than usual without an update…I'm at the point where I have to go back to the book to make sure I'm as true to it as possible. I will try my damndest to get it up as soon as I can, but that might not be until this weekend._

_One more quick question, and then I promise I'll leave you alone: I'm thinking of writing two sequels. The real ending, which would then follow the story of Insurgent, and an alternate if-the-war-never-happened ending. If I did, would you read both of them? Just looking for some opinions before I invest too much time in it. Thanks!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Burn**

**Eric**

I hit my all-time low that afternoon. Pills, alcohol and an unknown injection only intensified the aches and chills that come with Instigate withdrawal. I could barely move, except to stumble to the bathroom for several more dry-heave sessions. I don't eat or drink; my condition deteriorates quickly. I'll either die of starvation or kill myself before I make it back to the hallway.

I'm determined to see Christina one more time, tell her that I am dying and to let me die in peace. I'll tell her everything, right from the very start. But my determination isn't matched by my strength, and I barely make it out the door before I find I have to stop and rest. I am boneless, with nothing to hold me up I collapse on the floor. The hall blurs in and out of my vision. I'm going to die right here on the floor, and never have the chance to explain…

"Eric? Eric! Oh, shit. You're alive, right? Please be alive."

"Cris?" My eyes have somehow closed, but I open them again with great difficulty. Her face swims in front of me, and for a moment I see light hair and paleness, before it is replaced with dark tan and a worried expression.

"Yeah, Eric, it's me" The next thing I feel is her hand against my chest. "Good, your heart's still beating." She pulls away, and the creases in her forehead deepen. "You're burning up."

"Really?" I notice I'm clutching her fingers, warm in my hand. "No, I'm not. I'm freezing."

"Eric, you're sick. You need to be lying down. Is this your room?"

"Maybe."

She tries the door and finds it unlocked. After the few seconds it takes her to flick on the lights, she's back and trying to move me. She's strong, and with my help we could make it work, but I'm barely able to support my own weight. In the end she half-carries, half-drags me to the mattress and lowers me onto it. She vanishes suddenly, and the sudden loss of her warmth makes me realize just how cold I am. But she returns, holding a glass of water and something small in her closed fist.

"You need to take these," she says, opening her hand to reveal two little white pills.

"No. No more pills."

"It's not what you think. This'll bring your fever down. C'mon, Eric, please?"

I make the effort to focus on her, and she looks desperate and pleading. "Fine. Help me sit up."

She props me against the wall, which burns against my frigid skin. It hurts to swallow, every part of me feels limp and swollen. I've only reached this stage of withdrawal once before, several months ago, and Asher took a needle to my arm. The headache disappeared within an hour, the fever broke by the end of the day. I know what I need…just not if she will be willing to give it to me.

I slowly move back to laying down, and she watches every move I make with anxious eyes. When I'm still, she moves to hover over me. I pull her down against me, scalded by her warmth, and note the tension in her body.

"I'm dying, Cris." My voice scrapes against my swollen throat. God, she's beautiful, so much it almost hurts. My heart still beats, but slowly and unsteadily, guaranteeing me a slow, painful death.

"No! No, you're not." Her arms have somehow found their way around me, and she clutches my limp body against hers. "It's just a fever. It'll break soon."

"Not just a fever." My ability to speak in fully-formed coherent sentences seems to have disappeared. I'm too tired to try anyway. "Withdrawal. Have to…stop it."

"But you're not going to die tonight, right?"

"No. I'll spend weeks…months…like this." I don't go into the gory details. How the fever will continue to climb. How I won't be able to keep any food or water down and if the fever doesn't kill me, dehydration will. "Unless you fix me."

"How? Tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

She perches above me, hair tucked behind her ears, waiting for me to give her half-formed instructions. I reach into my pocket and pull out, in my shaking hand, the prize vial of Instigate.

I can tell she understands instantly, because she takes the vial from me. "Where's the syringe?"

"Behind the mirror."

She leaves my line of vision for a minute, and when she returns she's tapping the bubbles out of the syringe. In her hands is a familiar slip of fabric that she uses to tie me off…then stops, apparently confused.

"Here." With the promise of release looming, I am able to steady my grip. I take her hand in mine and guide her to the injection site, where I insert the tip of the needle under my fevered skin. "Press down."

No major physical change comes over me, but I feel better knowing that life is coursing through my bloodstream. She smiles tentatively, and I return it. "Thank you."

"Oh." She bites her lip and turns away. "It was nothing."

A knock at the door startles us from our reverie, and she jumps up anxiously. I point to the bathroom and she nods, hiding just behind the door. "Come in," I yell, struggling to sit up.

I exhale a silent sigh of relief when it turns out to be Max, not Four, who steps inside.

"You don't look well."

"That's because I'm not."

"Well, hurry up and get better," he snaps. He's never had much patience with me. "I just got a call from a representative of Erudite. You have a visitor."


	23. Exo-Politics

_Agh. I apologize for the long time between updates. Preparing for Christmas…you know how it is. Sorry to say this might be the last update for the year. I'm joining my family on a four-day road trip and I'm not sure if I'll have consistent internet access. I do have another outtake for Flawed Design already written, so I'll try to get that up, hopefully tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you like this chapter!_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Exo-Politics**

**Eric**

I manage to put off the visit for two more days, using my neglected Dauntless-leader duties as my excuse. In truth, I do almost nothing but lay around and try to recover from my latest near-death experience. However, I'm forced to put in an appearance to the initiates to give them their Stage Two rankings. So I stand in their dormitory, holding the chalkboard so they can't see what's on it. I've already looked at the rankings. Christina is seventh, and this worries me. Maybe I've impacted her performance more than I realized.

The Stiff comes in later than all the others, and once she's here, I hang the chalkboard on a nail above my head and step back. It's like I've disappeared into the shadows, like I was never even there. Everyone is obsessing over the rankings. Under cover of organized chaos, I slip out of the room (_God, I hate being around initiates, it reminds me too much of when I was one_) and make my way to the deserted hallway. As usual, I don't want company-but inevitably, company finds me.

"Where are we going?"

"Shut up, Will. _We're_ not going anywhere."

"You realize I won't stop now that you've said that."

"You realize I could beat you up if I wanted to."

"But you won't."

"You don't know that."

Christina rounds the corner with long strides, and Will is behind her, nearly running to keep up. She stops abruptly in front of me, and he almost crashes into her.

"I need a smoke," she says in lieu of a 'hello,' looking agitated.

"So you just made the assumption that I always have a cigarette on me?" Even as I'm implying I don't, I'm pulling one out of my pocket and lighting it for her.

"Thanks," she says, taking it from me. She takes a long drag...and immediately launches into a coughing fit that has both Will and I jumping up to make sure she's okay. "Fine," she stutters.

"Have you even smoked before? Will asks dubiously.

"Used to. At parties. It's been a while." A few drags later it's like it never even happened. She looks better smoking than I ever did. "Obviously, I haven't since I came here."

"Speaking of here," Will says, "what exactly are we doing?" He looks at me distrustfully, and though he has every right to, I find myself glaring back.

"_I_ am talking to Eric. _You_ are leaving.' She sits down next to me, smelling like cigarette smoke and something delicious I can't identify. "So, Death decided he didn't like the taste of you and coughed you back up, huh?"

"Apparently, considering I'm still alive." I light a second cigarette for myself, and for a few moments we sit in blissful silence, until our third party interrupts. Again.

"I mean it. Someone tell me what the hell is going on."

"Look at that," I mutter. "He swears."

"I already explained it to you," Christina says through clenched teeth. "Eric and I are trying to have a non-conversation, and we'd appreciate it if you would leave us alone."

I feel I should intercede, but I'm distracted by the way she said 'Eric and I.' It's almost too much.

"Fine," Will snaps, stalking off down the hall. I see the guilt in her face, resign myself to another lonely night.

"Go."

"Thanks." She smiles guiltily, then leans forward and presses her lips to my cheek for a split second. "Five minutes!" she yells as she takes off to catch up with him.

I sit alone in shock, raising my shaking hand to touch my face. I can still feel the feather-light touch of her lips on my skin, a soft, slow torture that burns its way through me. It's better than anything I've ever felt, except maybe Instigate. But she doesn't reciprocate my feelings, I'm sure of it. And Will...for the first time, I realize I've got competition.

Admitting this to myself is more difficult than I care to think about. I want her to be entirely without-a-doubt mine, no interference from anyone else. That's not going to happen as long as he's around.

I hear quiet footsteps and a few seconds later Christina reenters my line of sight. Her arms are folded around herself, like she's trying to hold herself together. The cigarette dangles limply from her thin fingers.

"He's mad at me," she says, sitting down.

"I'm sorry."

"He's even more mad at you."

I don't know how to respond. It makes perfect sense. I wish it didn't.

She looks at me nervously, then slides over so her entire side is pressed against mine, and her head rests on my shoulder.

"Sometimes I feel like you're the only real thing I've got," she murmurs.

There's no way to answer her statement without giving too much away. We lapse into comfortable silence, sitting still until the discarded cigarettes burn out.


	24. The Ruler

_I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! I could probably bore you to death with excuses that are actually legitimate before you even get to the end of this A/N, but here's the truth: I was distracted by the new Black Veil Brides (a.k.a Best Band Ever) album and all the things that go with it. Tomorrow, the eighth, will be exactly a month since it came out…I swear I meant to update before this, but January is bad for writing, at least in my case, both for BVB- and non-BVB-related reasons. Anyway, I added a couple songs to the playlist, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up before my birthday, the 22nd. No promises, just hope. Thanks for everyone who's still reading, thanks for putting up with my procrastinator ways :P_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Ruler**

**Eric**

The night brings with it a sense of anxiety, along with an overwhelming need to get high, an urge I must ignore. Right after I shoot up, the world is a blurry daze, and my ability to think and speak coherently deserts me. I'll need my wits about me tonight, because it's the night of the Progress Meeting.

In my opinion, giving it a title makes it seem overly pompous and official, due to the actual nature of the thing. It's not so much a meeting as a cleverly disguised argument. My forced conspirator and I have…extremely different views on everything.

I've gone to great pains to make it look like I actually give a shit about what I'm supposed to be doing. Scrubbed dirt, paint and dried blood off my body, washed the grease out of my hair, dressed in a cut-up shirt and ripped jeans, a leather jacket with actual sleeves to hide the puncture marks on my arm. Thanks to Asher, my hair is pin-straight and pushed (mostly) out of my eyes. I'm the ideal version of myself: cleaned up but still threatening, with the makings of an older Dauntless leader. But when I look in the mirror, all I see is the addict, with death-pale skin and circles under his eyes.

At the designated meeting place, she arrives right on time, not a second early or a second late. Instead of the just-for-show embrace, we shake hands stiffly. Neither of us wants to let go first, but finally I do, and look into the bracingly cold eyes of Jeanine Matthews.

"Hello, mother," I say through clenched teeth.

She nods curtly, gesturing for me to lead the way (what a disturbing thought, she's usually in charge) down a series of deserted hallways. I purposely avoid the hallway where I meet with Christina, afraid it will bring up distracting memories.

I don't want to be the first one to speak-how would I start off a conversation like this?-and eventually she rewards my total silence.

"Well?"

Alright, maybe 'reward' is too strong a word. "'Well' what?"

"Don't play stupid. You know why I'm here."

"Remind me again." I don't need reminding, though. It all goes back to my mother's crazy obsession with the Divergent. I'm not quite sure how or why it started, only that I've been tied up in it for too long, been too close to the situation, though I'll freely admit this is the first time in two years I've wanted to back away.

She just turns and glares at me, her eyes the grey of Abnegation robes, but somehow colder, a lake frozen over. I don't know where the hint of blue in my eyes came from, but moments like these make me glad it's there.

I sigh, staring straight ahead at the lamp-studded passage in front of me, refusing to be trapped under that ice. "So far there haven't been any signs of it." Not that I would know. I should probably check the simulation results more often, but I've been so busy with Christina and drugs and-

_Dammit, you said you wouldn't think about her._

"Well, you wouldn't have seen much of it yet." It sounds like a dismissal of my report, but I know she won't let me off that easy. "Combat training shows you nothing." I don't know, I saw a few things during combat training. "The simulations, however, reveal who the Divergent rebels are, if there are any, so we will have to examine the footage several times to be sure."

Right. You go ahead and do that. I've got better uses for my time than chasing a goal i don't want to achieve anymore.

"Don't forget the reason I had Max appoint you." Ah, the warning. My favorite part. "Your first priority is finding them. Always."

"I won't forget." _I've already forgotten._

We fall into a relapse of strained silence as I round the corner a step or two ahead of her. I stop under a blue light, but before I can make it very clear that she's no longer welcome here, she grabs my jaw in between her cold fingers, turning my head this way and that.

"You've been using," she says, contempt dripping from her voice. "Recently."

I jerk away from her in a sudden violent movement. There are ways to tell if someone's on Instigate, but I don't see how she knows, since Asher smeared makeup on the dark circles under my eyes-the dead giveaway-until they were all but invisible. "What business of yours is it whether I'm _using_"-I sneer at her lofty choice of words-"or not?"

"You're putting the whole mission in jeopardy."

"Maybe I don't care about the mission."

Her dirty ice eyes narrow to slits and she steps forward. Every word is eerily calm; she betrays no emotion. "I can't give you anything to control you." The unspoken "yet" rings in my ears, hangs in the air, a promise of submission. She's probably working on a drug for that. "But until I can, you _will_ do what I say." One step closer. "I can make your life hell."

"You already have." This is how most Progress Meetings end: me storming off without waiting for a response to my last word. We'd ended up only a couple halls away from my room, and I'm anxious to get there, be alone, reopen the hole in my bloodstream and fill it with life. But I'm not alone, because when I shut the door behind me, the lights flick on and David is there.


	25. The Killer

_Yay, another chapter! I don't really have much to say at this point, except thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially the lovely guest who suggested songs to me, it's nice to finally get some playlist love :) Okay, chapter twenty-seven (which I'm not working on quite yet, still on 26, but I know what's going to happen) is The Chapter. Y'know, the one I've had in mind ever since the beginning of this story. I'm really excited to put it up for you guys, and if you're wondering what this means, look to the playlist, and one of the specific songs on it, for more information :P_

_-A.l.y. _

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Killer**

**Eric**

I should've known this was coming. Asher warned me, in her offhand Asher way. But he doesn't look angry, just looks tired, like me. I shed the jacket and toss it on the floor. "If you're here to yell at me, I'm not in the mood," I warn, taking the shard of mirror-glass off its hook.

He smirks at me, taking in the unshadowed eyes, straight hair, no blood (another sign of Instigate abuse) leaking from the holes that my piercings fit into. "Progress Meeting?"

"Unfortunately." I take two brown bottles from the hole behind the mirror, one of liquor, one of Instigate. I toss the liquor to him and pull out the syringe box. "You don't mind, do you?" I ask, holding it up.

"Would it make any difference if I did?"

"Probably not." I grin a little. It feels foreign on my face. "So if you're not here to yell at me," I say, sitting on the bed and motioning for him to sit next to me, "then why are you here?"

"I don't know." He lowers himself on to the mattress with a barely-suppressed groan. I can tell by the way he holds himself that he's injured. "To call a truce, I suppose. You and Asher were good to me during initiation, and I don't like fighting with either of you. Besides, I can't control what you do."

"Yet." I make my voice as flat and lifeless as possible in mockery of Jeanine, but it's hard to hide my laughter. "But until I can, you _will_ do what I say."

"Wow. Did she really tell you that?"

"Almost word for word."

The laughter dies our and we're sitting there in silence as I flick the syringe against my arm, making small cuts. It's a good kind of pain. "Asher beat the shit out of you, didn't she?" I eye his stiff posture.

He laughs a little. "She did, or else I would've been here earlier. I could barely move." Another awkward pause. "You know she would do anything for you."

My throat is tight with guilt and fear. Would I return the favor? "I know."

He sighs and stands up, managing to do so in a way that looks incredibly painful, would make me ache for him if there was room for any more ache in my body. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he says, heading for the door. "Just because I've accepted I can't change you doesn't mean I have to watch. So long, Your Leadership." He salutes me and shuts the door, leaving me-at last-on my own.

I stare at the syringe in my hand, the bottle of Instigate on my lap, and feel a sudden disgust for myself. For the first time I see clearly what he means by being mad at me. I can deal with the fact that I'm wrecking my own life. I never had much of a future anyway. But I'm affecting everyone I know-Asher, Ivoree, David. Christina. I hate to admit it, but I have to. I push the box out of my lap and it lands on the floor. The bottle I am more careful with, setting it upright. I never said I was perfect. I can't just quit, that's not how this kind of addiction works. Instead I lay back and, though I don't mean to, lose myself in memory for the first time since Christina and I first met in the hallway.

_I am seventeen, trembling and terrified. Every other Dauntless is gathered in the Pit, but I am separate, in a room a couple stories up. The four leaders crowd around me-their fifth just died the same way Cr-_I can't say her name_ did. Apart from them, a little nearer to the door, is my mother, looking almost pleased. I can't imagine why. It can't possibly have anything to do with me. Everyone knows I was just a publicity stunt…_

_"Eric." Max stands in front of me. He's kind enough, at least, not to say _Eric Matthews_, for which I am grateful. "Jeanine"-again, not _your mother_-"said you would cooperate, and for your sake I hope that's true. You're familiar with the Divergent, I'm sure?"_

_"Yes," I say slowly, confused. "But…they're just a story, aren't they?" I'd been told about them, of course. People who could fit into more than one faction was a little too far-fetched for me._

_He runs a hand through gray-flecked hair. "I wish I could tell you they were just a story, but they aren't. The Divergent are very real, and they want to take over and destroy every bit of order we've created. We've taken it upon ourselves to exterminate them. In fact, we recently got rid of one in your pack of initiates."_

_But…the only initiate to die was…_

_No._

_"We need you to join us as a conspirator…as a Dauntless leader. We believe you would be an invaluable asset to us."_

No not my girl not my Christian they killed her why did they do it oh god it hurts they killed her killed me killed her.

_"So what do you say?"_

I'll kill them all.

_I don't say it out loud. Instead I nod, face grave, and shake his outstretched hand. In a few minutes he will take me out to the Pit and introduce me to the screaming writhing mass of the people I don't want to rule…_

"Eric!"

I sit bolt upright, startled into tenseness. The door's been unlocked-how?-and in the frame stands Four. This is the first time I've seen him genuinely concerned about anything, and if it's in my presence, it can't be good.

"What?" 

"It's Al. He threw himself into the chasm."


	26. Funeral

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Funeral**

**Eric**

The Pit is crowded with every Dauntless that will fit, and the rest spill up stairs and into hallways. Only the area near the chasm is avoided, and this is where I stand. Asher, Ivoree and David surround me. A little bit away, next to the railing, is a box that, in a few minutes, I will climb onto and give a speech from for this, Al's funeral.

Next to me, Asher clutches a damp tissue in her hands. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyeliner smeared in tear tracks down her porcelain skin. David and Ivoree, who are holding hands (I always knew there was something between them), are also blurry-eyed. We've not crying for Al, though. We cry for the memory of the dearly departed lost to the chasm two years ago. My tears run inside me, slip alongside blood and Instigate in my veins. I try my hardest to keep a straight face, when all I want to do is lock myself in my room and shoot up until I die. The numbness of her death has worn off, and I feel it with painful precision all over me.

"I can't do this," I moan in pain. I haven't eaten in days, my stomach is tied in knots. I am going to starve.

"But you have to," Asher says, broken whispers. "You have to."

I know what she means. When…Christian died…there were no speeches, no funeral, no nothing at all. They never even found her body. This is my chance to make up for that. I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve. Then I climb onto the box.

_Please let me fall into the chasm._

"Quiet down, everyone!" I yell, just loud enough to disguise my shaking voice. David hits the chasm railing and it reverberates through the Pit. The crowd falls silent, except for an undercurrent of muttering. "Thank you. As you know, we're here because Albert, an initiate, jumped into the chasm last night."

Now the mutters grind to a halt, and all I hear is the rush of the chasm and the pounding of my heart.

"We do not know why," I continue, "and it would be easy to mourn the loss of him tonight. But we did not choose a life of ease when we became Dauntless. And the truth of it is…" I let a smile slip onto my face. It's fake, mocking, a mask to hide my grief. This is what they would have said for her. "The truth is, Albert is now exploring an unknown, uncertain place. He leaped into vicious waters to get there. Who among us is brave enough to venture into that darkness without knowing what lies beyond it? Albert was not yet one of our members, but we can be assured that he was one of our _bravest_!"

A yell starts in the Pit, building into a dull roar that presses into my ears like an accusation. I feel that they hear my lies as clearly as I do. The guilt closes in on me, chokes me. But I am not done.

"We will celebrate him now, and remember him always!" I shout. Next to me, Asher holds up a bottle. I grab it from her and raise it in the air. "To Albert the Courageous!"

"To Albert!" The crowd responds. They chant his name-"Al-bert! Al-bert!"-until it doesn't sound like a word anymore. I slip my way off the box and tumble onto the floor. When I stand, my hands, arms, knees, are stained with dark blood. Ivoree takes a step forward, but I hold up a hand to stop her. My legs are unsteady as I attempt to fully stand. I have to hold onto the railing to keep my balance, all the while fearing and hoping I'll fall in. Asher grabs my arm and leads me away. I'm still holding the bottle she gave me, and I tip it back, draining it of its contents. It doesn't taste how I expect and for a moment I worry I just drank Instigate and I'm going to die within the next few hours.

"Don't worry." Asher rolls her eyes at the look on my face. "It's just whisky. I got it from Isaac last week. You're not going to die."

"I might," I slur. It is possible that I'm drunk already? Or is it just the pain? "It hurts, Ash."

"I know. Just hang on." Her smile is somehow amused and sad at the same time. We've arrived at my room, which she unlocks with the key I gave her. She leads me forward slowly, like i'm something fragile, breakable. "Wait here. Don't move." She goes over to the mirror, lifts it from the hook. I lower myself onto the mattress. Every inch of me hurts, my throat is dry and alcohol-burned. Through vision blurred with tears, I see Asher tapping bubbles out of a full syringe. She crouches next to me, ties me off 'til I'm numb, then slides the needle tip into the puncture mark and presses down. I don't feel the press but I feel tears running down my face. She sets the needle down, unties the slip of fabric from around my arm. The next thing I'm aware of are her thin cold fingers following the tear tracks.

"Eric," she whispers, and her voice is barely-suppressed pain, sorrow and longing. Sometimes I look at her as something other than my best friend. Now is one of those times.

"Asher," I whisper back, and we kiss, soft, slow destruction that eats away at me body and soul. She is warm and familiar and comforting and not at all what I want.

She pulls back and lays me down, hovering over me, brushing hair out of my eyes. Her voice lulls me to sleep, repeating the same motif.

"You didn't mean it. I didn't mean it."


	27. Yes

_Happy one-year anniversary! I don't really have much to say, as usual, except that the casting for Eric has made me EXTREMELY UPSET. The guy doesn't look like Andy-I mean Eric-at all ;) Anyway, here is The Chapter. Enjoy, and thanks to Miss Bookworm303 for the playlist suggestion. I didn't use the exact song you suggested, but I picked another one by the same artist, so you get credit :)_

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Yes**

**Eric**

When I wake up, Asher is gone. The silence echoes through the room, and I feel as if I'm suffocating under its weight. My heart beats out a needy rhythm, _Christina Christina Christina_. I need to see her so I can feel alive. She is alive. I am not. The skin over my knees is ripped to shreds, scabbed and bloody. Still, I manage to pull myself out of bed.

_This time_, I resolve, _I will tell her everything._

My resolve, however, doesn't extend to Instigate. Asher shot me up earlier, but I take the bottle and syringe with me in case she wants it. I would if I were her. I did, after Christian died. I snuck out of the dorm with a full syringe-taken from her not-yet-emptied drawer-and secluded myself in the training room after I picked the lock. Sobbing until my eyes ran dry, I shot up the whole thing and almost overdosed. My body arched in a contortionist dance, my fever ran a hundred and four degrees but I was chilled down to the core. I don't want to watch that happen to her, but at the same time I'm willing to do anything to take her pain away.

I round the corner to the dead-end hallway and she's already there, pacing back and forth, throwing shadows on the wall. In a way, she reminds me of myself, impatient and wound up, on the nights when she was late. I start to smile at the sight of her, but when she starts toward me and I catch a glimpse of her under the light, she looks…angry. Before I have time to process this she's got me slammed against the wall, rough rock that bruises through my vest.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demands. Her thin fingers are ice-cold on my shoulders and I can't help bur wonder how they would feel on other parts of my body. Her face is calm but an angry fire blazes in her eyes. I want to put it out, replace it with fire of a different kind, but I fear I'm all burned out, strung out, dangling over the chasm by the last frayed ends of my sanity.

"I-I honestly don't know what you're talking about." She scoffs, and I smell whisky on her breath. I suddenly remember what happened earlier-the funeral. Al. He was one of her friends, and, unlike mine, her mourning is genuine. I cast a glance to the side and there, on the floor under the light, is a container of little white Sighted pills.

"Al was not _brave_. He was a coward, and it _killed_ him. He tried to kill my friend because she made him feel weak. And _you_, standing up on your little soapbox, trying to glorify the fact that he _threw himself into the chasm_."

She pushes away from me suddenly, like I'm a disease she doesn't want to catch. All of me is bruised or cut open. I feel warm blood running down my legs-some of the scabs on my knees were forced open. She takes no notice, sinking to the floor. She used all her strength accusing me, and grief sapped the rest of it.

"This is probably the last thing you want to hear." I slide down next to her, pressing my hands over my knees in a halfhearted attempt to stop the bleeding. She refuses to look at me. Her fists are clenched in her lap, nails leaving half-moon indents in her palms. I want to touch her, but I know she would recoil from even the slightest brush of my blood-covered fingers. "But I know exactly how you feel."

"You do." She laughs humorlessly. Her hands uncurl to wash down a small handful of pills with dark liquor. "I heard one of the people that were there when they found his body say that this happens every year. Who died for you, Eric? Was it one of your friends? Was it someone from your faction?" She stifles a sob, palms flat against the ground. Without thinking, I cover one of her hands with mine. She flinches but doesn't pull away. "You don't know how it feels."

"What if I told you I could've saved her?" I whisper. My fingers tighten. "The girl who died my year. She was ranked first, not afraid of anything. Someone bet her she couldn't hang over the chasm for five minutes. She said she could. Thought she was invincible." I pause to catch my breath. She's watching me now, brown eyes wide and attentive. "She almost made it. I was there when she fell and I didn't catch her."

I know she's made the connection between herself and Christian by the way her eyes narrow. "So what you're saying is you tried to kill me?"

"No." Instigate has turned my verbal filter off. I can't help letting my thoughts escape. "I knew you wouldn't fall." She raises one of her eyebrows at me. "You're stronger than she was."

"Oh." She wasn't expecting to be complimented. I see her cheeks flush. "Thanks. I think." her hand has finally relaxed in mine, despite the blood. She turns to look at me, face still slightly red, a smirk turns up the edges of her full lips. "You know what would make me feel better?"

_Sex?_ I bite the inside of my mouth, determined to keep a hold on myself. She reaches across me, hands brushing bare skin-I freeze, clenching my teeth harder to keep in a moan-and reaches into the satchel, pulling out in her fingertips the bottle of Instigate. I feel a grin on my own lips. This is wrong, too wrong, it could get us both thrown out. Then why does it feel so right?

She laughs at my expression and reaches up to push my hair out of my eyes. Her touch is its own kind of drug, just a little bit leaves me aching for more. "You should probably let me do that," I say, taking the bottle from her. She watches me with eyes full of anticipation. I uncork the bottle, draw dark liquid into the syringe, filling it about halfway. It's the most concentrated I've ever allowed her to shoot up, but then again, I wouldn't let her if I didn't think she could handle it. I tap it against a black-painted fingernail to get the air out, then hand it to her.

"Hold that, and keep it upright." She nods and moves so she's sitting on my legs, just above my bloody knees. I suck in a deep breath and reach for the slip of fabric, looping it around her arm as tightly as I can manage with my shaking hands. Carefully-I could hurt her if I'm not steady enough-I slide the tip of the needle under her skin and press down. Her eyes flutter shut, her breathing becomes shallow and uneven. I know what it's like to feel the drug mixing in my bloodstream, setting my veins on fire. When her eyes open, she stares straight at me, more intense than I've seen her before. Slowly, as if gauging my reaction, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.

The syringe shatters on the floor, embedding broken glass in my leg as it slips through my fingers, but I don't care. My hands are on her waist, pulling her closer, my mouth opens under hers. She tastes like Sighted and liquor and something I can't quite identify, something completely intoxicating. Her fingers weave through my hair and pull me just a whisper away, where she murmurs before she kisses me again:

"Eric…you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."


	28. Secret

_Yay, new chapter! Sorry the update time was longer than expected, it took a while to figure out how I wanted to follow that up. We're closer to the end than I thought they were, but we've still got a ways to go. I've reached the point where it might be a little longer between updates because I have to fit certain things in every chapter so the story can finish the way it's supposed to. Aside from that, I have a couple other in-progress fics that I want to finish, so I'll be working on those, and there are a few new projects planned. I'm working on another Eric-centric Divergent fic with TheBreakfastGenie, and I've recently begun two RPFs that will be up on my Wattpad account (link to that is in my profile) because they aren't allowed here. Basically, I'm writing about five things at once. I am currently working on chapter 27 from Christina's POV for Flawed Design, so I hope to have that up soon. Thanks for the reviews from ILuvMyFangPlushie , Miss Bookworm303, and EpicStepek! Enjoy the next chapter!_

_WARNING: MILD SMUT AND FLUFF. PROCEED WITH CAUTION._

_-A.l.y._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Secret**

**Eric**

I remember only vague flashes of what happens next. Her soft full lips on mine, tongues fighting for desperate tastes. Half-carrying each other back to my room because we're both high, laughter and stolen kisses against walls. Slamming the door and collapsing onto the bed. The need to touch all of her is too strong to fight. We assist with each other's clothes, hands pulling and tearing at fabric until she lies under me, breathing heavy, both of us completely exposed. My hands carve a pathway down her body that my lips follow, and she is very responsive, moaning my name-my new favorite sound-gripping my hair and pushing me closer to her. She reciprocates in kind, hands ghosting over every inch of my fevered skin, lingering longer in some places, pressing down harder. Sometimes her lips would join in, making me moan louder, plead for more. Eventually we kiss again, deeper and longer-and that's where the memory ends.

I don't know if we crossed that line, got to the point of no return and didn't look back. The evidence seems to suggest yes, but for some reason I can't convince myself to believe it. Either way, she's still here the next morning. We are both naked, tangled in the sheets, and I'm aware of the press of her warmth so acutely it almost hurts. She's not awake yet, but I wonder if she'd feel the same way if our positions were reversed. I still ache with need, evidence against what an observer would believe to be true-what _I_ almost believe. Unless being with her had somehow increased my hunger, not sated it. Between Instigate and this new, strange hunger, I wonder if I will ever be satisfied.

She begins to stir, and her breathing pattern changes, warm on my shoulder. I tense up, suddenly terrified. I don't want her to leave, everyone else always leaves. I want her to be the one that stays. The light, as usual, is dim, but it's enough to watch her brown eyes open and blink away the heaviness of sleep. I see them narrow in confusion; her lips part slightly, trying to puzzle out where she is, and then her eyes land on me. They light up as she recognizes me, she grins and pulls me in. We kiss until I'm dizzy from her taste. My hands slide to the small of her back, pressing her to me. I pull away slightly and move my lips down to her neck.

"Eric." Her voice is breathless and low, fingers in my hair. It takes me a minute to realize she's saying _not now_. "Stop."

Reluctantly, I lift my lips from her skin. She keeps me close, though, we're still holding each other. She laughs, and there is no air behind the sound. "You drugged me," she accuses jokingly. Her eyes have fluttered halfway shut. Instigate is a tiring thing. It tugs on your veins, wraps its fingers in knots around your body until you are heavy and swollen with it, but it's an incredible feeling. I don't move the day after, usually, just lie there and feel it sleep into my bloodstream until no part of me remains untainted. Moving brings on the headache. She's figured that out the hard way.

"My head hurts," she says quietly.

"I know, baby. Don't move." I shift us carefully so she's lying on top of me, her head on my chest, and start running my fingers through her hair. She exhales against me, and her whole body relaxes. I know that feeling, too. "It gets better, I promise," I murmur into her hair. "You have to get used to it. When you do, it gets easier every time. Eventually you don't notice it at all. I realize suddenly that I'm speaking in 'when,' not 'if.' I'm assuming she's going to keep using. She's going to be an addict like me. I'm terrified by the thought, the knowledge that I'm killing her slowly.

"Are you okay?" Her fingers find my lips, she skims over skin and piercings without lifting her head. "You just got really tense."

"I'm fine." I hope she can't hear the false not in my voice. My arms tighten around her. I don't ever want to let go. "Just…I worry sometimes. That we'll get caught." A lie in this context, but technically not untrue.

"Oh." We have the same thought at the same time. She props herself up on her elbows-how it must hurt her head-and looks at me, biting her lip nervously. Her skin burns mine, and I wonder if Instigate or fear has made me cold. "Eric?" She is tentative. It's the second time she's said my name in the space of five minutes, and I revel in the sound. "What…exactly…did we do last night?"

I wish I could answer her honestly, take away the pain of not knowing for both of us. But I can't. "I…I really don't know." I exhale in a long sigh that brushes the top of her head. "I don't remember."

"I don't either. Well, I remember…some things." Her face darkens as she blushes. I feel a flush creep up my neck, made painfully obvious by my paper-white skin. The heat of the blood scorches me, reminding me that my knees are scabbed, my back is bruised. But I don't feel anything except her.

"I remember those things too." My fingertips, no doubt cold to her, begin to trace light patterns across her back, her shoulder blades. She shudders and then takes a deep breath to steady herself. I tilt my head to whisper in her ear. "I'd like to remember them again."

A moan, barely there, hitches in her throat as I curl my fingers around the back of her neck and kiss her. I stop breathing, and for a second we are one being, and I lose track of where she ends and I begin. But suddenly that moment is over, and she pushes me away forcefully. "Eric." Three. "We can't. I want to-you know I want to-but we can't."

"Alright." She lays back down, and for a moment we are silent, until she thinks of another question for me.

"How many people know? About…" She's not quite sure what to call it. "About us."

It's a serious question, one I can tell has been weighing heavily on her mind. I take a minute to consider it. "You. Me. Four. Will. David. Asher and Ivoree, you've seen them with me. I think that's it. Unless you told anyone."

She shakes her head against me. "I haven't said anything. Besides, who would I tell?"

"The Stiff?"

"You mean Tris?"

"Right. Sorry."

"I don't think she's get it."

_And we can't risk anyone running off to tell Four. _"We can't tell anyone else, you know."

"I know."

What we're doing is dangerous. Jeanine has enough influence to keep me in a leadership position if this breaks, but Christina could wind up factionless. I don't want that to happen, losing her now would be too much. I want to stay here, forever, and that fantasy comforts me as I drift into a drug-induced sleep.


	29. Landscape

_Hello, my followers! I know it's been over a month…as I've already said to some of you, I DO have a life outside of FFn and writing in general. This past month, that life included the SAT, two AP tests, and finals, which are STILL GOING ON. But I took time off to finish this. You're welcome._

_Miss Bookworm303 bullied me into updating. Watch out for that bitch, she's bad news ;)_

_Anyway. Finals are over this Wednesday, so I'm hoping I'll have more time to update over the summer. But I'll go ahead and let you all know now: The last week of June I will be out of town, so even though I'll be writing, expect no updates. I'm also taking a summer school class July 1-19, and I'm hoping to go to Warped Tour, probably on July 30th. And in between all that, I have to read "The Fountainhead" for AP Lit. So, even though there will be more updates, they will be spaced out. The story is coming close to its finish, though, and I'm hoping to get it done and the sequel started sometime before Allegiant comes out. (Allegiant-did anyone see that title coming? I definitely did not.) So thanks for all the reviews and support, and I will hopefully see you soon!_

_-A.l.y._

_P.S. For those of you who didn't already know, I've joined a couple other sites-they've been one of the things keeping me away. So I am now on Wattpad (MetallycaBiersack) and a site specific to BVB fic (AlyNirvanaBVB). Links for both are on my profile._

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Landscape**

**Eric**

I wake curled in on myself, arms wrapped around my knees in an effort to stay warm. Someone draped a thin blanket over me. Christina did, before she left. She had to leave, to go to initiation. I think they're doing fear landscapes today. But she was here, and the thought makes me ecstatic. She didn't leave until she had to. In a good mood for once, I wake and dress quickly, in a cut-up shirt instead of a vest and skintight black jeans. Holes in the knees show where my skin has been ripped away, but I don't care. No one is going to see me for what I have to do today.

I don't want anyone to see me, so I stick to barely-used back hallways that I know well. I'm not in the mood to avoid Asher's questions or be the subject of David's hateful glares. In the past days, I've started thinking about my own fears, since I'll soon be watching the initiates'. At last count, I had eleven. I'm curious to see if they've changed.

Eventually I reach one of the main hallways, and I'm forced to stand up straighter, walk with a fierce certainty I'm not sure I possess anymore. It helps that there is liquid courage being sped to even the farthest corners of my being. My head, for once, is clear, no sign of migraine or blurred thought. After the initiates are finished, I will see Christina. We can share a needle, and maybe a few other things too. That thought is the only thing that pushes me forward.

"You seem happy." While I'm lost in my thoughts, Ivoree has fallen into step beside me. If I have to see anyone, I'm glad it's her. She won't try to pry too much.

"I suppose I am." It's a strange feeling, happiness, one I haven't felt in a long time. It makes me light and buoyant, makes me think nothing will go wrong. "How is everyone?" 

"Fine. No different than usual, really. David doesn't miss you much. And Asher…whenever anyone brings you up, she gets this _look_."

Her hair is different, I notice, trying not to think about what she just said. It's parted down the center, dyed a less intense red than it used to be. Had Asher told anyone? Did the one person I trust unconditionally finally betray me?

"I was hoping you'd know what that means. She never says anything."

I breathe a silent sigh of relief. The initiates seem to have finished early-we've reached the Pit and I see them coming down the stairs high above me. "Um, if she's thinking of what I think she is, it's kind of personal. Excuse me." I duck into the path that leads down to the chasm, just out of sight of most of the initiates, but Christina catches my eye. I raise my eyes up to the Spire and mouth "Later." She nods and continues away.

After the initiates file away (led by Four, whose face looks rather…red) I steal away from the chasm and start up the stairs. People who are coming down push themselves against the wall to make room for me. I can remember a time when I gloried in being an object of fear and respect, but it seems far away now.

By the time I reach the Spire, my legs ache and I am out of breathe. The mental high I feel has just barely extended to my body. There aren't many people around: they're all shut up in offices or in the Pit, going about their daily lives with only a sparing thought for me. Maybe no thought at all. Fine. I'm better being ignored right now anyway.

I quickly program the room to take me to my landscape and pick up the syringe. A shot to the neck is no big deal. I poke myself with needles every day. Emptying this into my veins feels different, though: dread rather than anticipation. Heart pounding wildly, I step into the room and shut the door behind me.

My field of vision goes dark for a split second, and then it explodes in bright spots, and I am suffocating. Death. It is an irrational fear-who in Dauntless, especially a leader, would fear death?-but it is one I have, nonetheless. I know this is all in my head, and I really can breathe, so I inhale deeply and slow down my racing heart, though screams still escape through my clenched teeth. This is how I deal with the landscape, even though a voice smirks at the back of my mind that it is cowardly.

The pain of not breathing vanishes and is replaced by the pain of withdrawal-this is one of my lesser fears, and will be over in a few seconds. When that disappears, my mother is in front of me, stripping me of my title as Dauntless leader and effectively making me factionless. It represents two things: fear of powerlessness, and fear of Jeanine and the control she has over me. She dissolves and I am swimming in a sea of Instigate; unable to hold my breathe, I breathe it in and it fills my lungs. It's another control issue-I want to have power over my addiction, not let _it_ have power over _me_. I spy an outcrop of land and swim towards it, and when I've hoisted myself up I find I'm standing at the edge of the chasm, no railing to hold me back. Breathing still steady (I've seen it all before) I back away.

But a scream comes from the chasm, and I recognize it with a sick jolt. Asher is in the chasm, I realize, and without a second thought I rush forward again and jump off the edge. As I fall, I contemplate things. If this were real, we would both die, and surprisingly, I'm alright with that. I just don't want to live in a world where I exist and she does not. It would be losing a part of me.

As quickly as ever, I'm clean (well, relatively) and dry and not drowning (at least not in the literal sense). There should only be two left, and I know what they are-but this is not one of them. I am laying on my back, shirtless, and Christina is above me, kissing her way up my chest to my neck. A moan hitches in my throat. I wasn't expecting this. Even though I know they aren't real, her lips feel so soft and warm on my skin. She bites down on my neck, and this time the moan escapes unbridled, echoing through the empty room. She moves her lips to my ear and whisper "I love you."

Then I become detached, and I watch myself stopping her, sitting up and saying "I need to tell you something." But before I can hear what it is, we are gone. There is only blinding light, silence ringing in my ears, I can't even hear my own breathing, the beating of my heart or the screaming that must be escaping my mouth. Only light and silence.

A minute later, it is dark.

I wake to familiar hands shaking me and Christina's voice calling my name frantically. I blink and her face comes into view. Something itches at the back of my mind. I sit up, then stand, taking my time so as not to fall over.

"Christina?"

"I'm right here." She appears at my arm.

"Come with me." I start walking towards the chasm. "I need to tell you something."


	30. Confession

_Yes, I know I haven't updated since May…I'm not going to bother making excuses. Hopefully people are still reading this._

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty: Confession<br>Eric**

I lead her down into the chasm, avoiding rocks and staying close to the wall, gripping her hand tightly the whole time. It's probably the last time I'll ever get to do so, and I treasure every second of it, locking the memory away in some deep place that throbs with unknown feeling. I want to hold on to her forever and never let go. That is not an option. Still, I can't bring myself to relinquish my grip on her hand when we take a seat on a rock outcropping just a couple feet above the deadly water.

"So." She clears her throat a little. She's nervous about what I have to say. Understandable, since I am too. "What did you want to talk about?"

I didn't _want_ to talk about anything. What I wanted was to take her back to my room, shoot up again, and then pick up where we left off last night. But she deserves to know, and better I be the one to tell her than for her to find out through someone else.

"I owe you an explanation," I say, staring at the toes of my black leather boots and the raging river beyond them. "For why I am the way I am. It probably doesn't matter to you, but…I just feel like you should know."

She puts her hand on my bruised knee, careful of the scabs, and I feel something welling up inside me, in a place I've only recently dared to let myself probe. I refuse to put a name to it for fear of what it might be. "I'll listen to anything you have to say."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. The words felt lodged in my throat. I was going to have to force them out.

"I'm going to tell you about Christian." She doesn't say anything, but when I look over she is nodding encouragingly, so I have to continue. "I didn't know her until we were initiates, despite my…connections. She was the only Amity transfer. The odd one out. It was no surprise she left, because you could tell pretty quickly she didn't fit in with them. She had almost an…inherently violent nature. The best fighter in the croup, even among the Dauntless-born. She would've been ranked first, if she hadn't-well, anyway." I took a deep breath, knowing if would require more air than I could take in to say these words. "And I was madly in love with her."

Silence. When I glance at her now, out of the corner of my eye, she refuses to look at me. Instead she stares at the water rushing through the chasm as if she is contemplating throwing herself in it.

I clear my throat awkwardly, trying to cough up some of the regret, and continue. "At least, I thought I was. She was one of those people who could make your day just by looking at you. And I was starved for attention, and she was willing to give it to me. She was what I most wanted to be: courageous, and strong, and loved." My voice breaks slightly, and I clear my throat again in an attempt to cover it up. "Looking at it now, it's almost as if I didn't want to be _with_ her. I wanted to _be_ her."

Christina scoffed, and I felt my stomach drop into the chasm.

"She didn't love me, though. I thought she did. But she didn't love anyone. She only used them. I was her dealer for a bit. Her middleman. I would sneak out in the compound in the middle of the night and meet up with her brother. He thought it was a mood-controlling drug, until it killed her."

"I thought she died in the chasm." Her face was expressionless, her voice emotionless, but deep in her blank stare I could see the beginnings of anger.

"She did. And she was high." I looked out at the water, white crests rising and falling, and wondered what it would be like to throw myself into it. Maybe, I thought, if I could make my heart stop beating, expel the air from my lungs and thought from my mind, then the pain would stop. It wouldn't hurt knowing I was about to lose her, it wouldn't hurt at all.

She was silent for another moment, biting her lip nervously, as if she was trying to decide whether or not to say something. "And I remind you of her?"

There it was, the question that would sever whatever ties I'd formed with her. But I couldn't lie. "Only at first glance." I swallowed thickly. "You resemble her, but you're nothing like her."

"Not me." It was almost as if she hadn't heard anything past my first sentence. "You lover her, not me. You see her, not me." She snaps her head up to look at me suddenly, and her eyes are wide and red with anger. "You used me."

"No." I know nothing I say now can reassure her, or change her mind. She's stubborn. Like Christian. Like me, once.

"Yes. You said so yourself. I look like her. We get high together." She stops, suddenly disgusted with something. "Our names have the same letters."

"But it's not like that," I protested futilely. "I haven't thought of her in weeks. Not until…"

"Not until what?" I stare at my hands in silence, and after a moment it clicks for her. "Last night."

I nod.

"Well. I suppose I know where your priorities are." She stands, brushing dust off her black pants, and I don't try to stop her. It's no use. "They were right, you know. Four and Tris and everyone." She pauses for only a second, barely glancing back at me. "You're a monster."

Then she's gone, and I'm alone in the chasm. The place where she died, where we died, where I will die soon, whether figuratively or literally, because I've made my choice. And the echo of water slapping the rocks is loud enough to mask my screaming, my desperate choked sobs. It's over. She is gone, and I am alone.


	31. Front

_Guys! New chapter! My birthday is tomorrow! Leave birthday reviews! :P_

**Breaking The Habit**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Front**

**Eric**

I am sitting alone in the corner of the Pit when Max's assistant comes running up with a message from Jeanine Matthews. Something about one of our initiates in her compound. For a moment I worry it is Christina, off to do something rash, but then I hear the name "Tris. Max wants me to deal with her when she returns. He's too important to be rounding up stray initiates all day. I don't bother protesting, I don't have the energy for it. For anything, really. But I have to pretend I do, or I could lose my position, and then everything would go to hell.

So I stand here outside the door to the Spire when one of Erudite's solar-powered cars pulls up and Tris steps out. The second she's got both feet on the ground I grip her arm and pull her into the compound. I block the door leading into the Pit, so she'll have nowhere to run. I don't want this to take long, fearing my armor will splinter, but I find I'm delaying the procedure even more by taking the time to crack each of my knuckles. When I'm finished with that, I lace my fingers together, so I won't fidget. I'm supposed to look intimidating.

"Welcome back, Tris."

"Eric."

I flinch internally at the sound of my name. Eric is gone, I think, and he's not coming back. I am someone else, a new Eric motivated by only addiction, resentment and grief.

I start to walk towards her, carefully measured steps. "What exactly were you thinking?" My dirty nails are leaving indents in the backs of my hands, but the pain is the only thing that's keeping me from losing it completely.

"I...I don't know."

She's so close that if I leaned in just the slightest bit more I could kiss her, but the thought disgusts me. "I am tempted to call you a traitor, Tris. Have you never heard the phrase 'faction before blood'? Were you unsatisfied with the life you have found here? Do you perhaps regret your choice?" I raise my eyebrows so high that I feel the piercings just into my forehead. "I would like to hear an explanation for why you betrayed Dauntless, yourself, and me..." I lift one of my shaking hands to my chest, hoping she doesn't notice its trembling. "...by venturing into another faction's headquarters."

"I..." She inhales deeply. I know why she's scared, and frankly, she has every reason to be. I've seen her simulation times. There's no way she isn't Divergent. But at the same time, she is Christina's friend. I can't turn her in, despite how much I despise her and her king. But there is something I could do...

"If you cannot explain," I tell her quietly, "I may be forced to reconsider your rank. Or, because you seem to be so attached to your previous faction...perhaps I will be forced to reconsider your friends' ranks. Perhaps the little Abnegation girl inside of you would take that more seriously."

Her expression doesn't change, but I see disbelief and fear in her eyes. She thinks I won't do it, but I am already so far past the edge of my sanity that I wouldn't hesitate for a second. "I..."

The door opens, and who should walk in but Four? Of course. I grit my teeth, knowing any semblance of a calm demeanor I had possessed was gone now.

"What are you doing?" he asks me.

"Leave the room," I snap, trying not to look at him.

"No. She's just a foolish girl. There's no need to drag her here and interrogate her."

"Just a foolish girl," I scoff. "If she were just a foolish girl, she wouldn't be ranked first, now would she?"

I finally do look at him, and he is pinching the bridge of his nose between long fingers. He is watching Tris. Not me. Even in my grief-addled state, I know he is trying to tell her something. When I glance back at her, she is shoving her hands in her pockets.

"I...I was just embarrassed and I didn't know what to do." Tears form in her eyes as she looks up at me. "I tried to...and..." She shakes her head.

"You tried to what?"

"Kiss me," Four says. "And I rejected her, and she went running off like a five-year-old. There's really nothing to blame her for but stupidity."

I look back and forth between them. I can tell he's lying, but for now I have to act like I believe it. I start to laugh-it's a bit too loud and I'm not sure when to stop, but it'll do. What a hypocrite, I think to myself. And he yells at me for being attracted to initiates.

"Isn't he a little too old for you, Tris?" I smile again, hoping it looks sufficiently mocking.

She pulls her hand across her face, like she's brushing away a tear, but I know better. They probably thought of this together. "Can I go now?"

"Fine, but you are not allowed to leave the compound without supervision again, you hear me?" I reluctantly turn to look at Four. "And you...had better make sure none of the transfers leave this compound again. And that none of the others try to kiss you."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Fine."

Tris turns around and walks out, leaving me alone with Four. Exactly what I don't want. For a moment we just stare at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say. His eyes pierce mine and I look down, afraid of what they'll see.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Eric," he says in a voice soft and dangerous, one I know all too well.

I scoff. "Look who's talking. Besides, you don't have to worry about me anymore." I'm trying to keep the hurt out of my voice but I fear a little may have slipped in, and judging by the look on his face, he heard it. He opens his mouth to say something but I've already turned around.

"Eric."

This is the first time since initiation that he's used my name in a way that's not angry, or degrading, or loathing. It makes me stop in my tracks for a split second, but I refuse to turn around. "Tobias."

And I keep walking, away from whatever he's trying to tell me, thinking it would be a hell of a lot easier for everyone if I just threw myself in the chasm.


	32. Boil

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Two: Boil<br>Eric**

I know that I am shirking my duties, and Asher is probably looking for me, but I could care less. I just need to get as far away from here as possible, and since physically isn't an option, I'm left only with Instigate. Not that I'm complaining. Maybe I'll purposely overdose, and then this can all be done. The lure of no more pain is too tempting to ignore, but I can think of more…poetic ways to put this to an end.

Still, I can't resist one last detour by the initiate dorms, hoping to catch a final glimpse of her. I can't let her see me, though, because I can only imagine the look of pure hatred on her face if she were to notice me watching her. As I near the dormitory, I hear a voice. Tris. There aren't many people around here she would sound so comfortable talking to, so I'm betting Christina is with her. I bet right, because her voice filters through the noise in my brain just as I reach the door.

"Good. Because I have to tell you something."

I am frozen in place. She is going to talk about me, or about Instigate-or both, since she couldn't reveal one secret without divulging the other. I slide forward carefully to peer through the door, but I'm at a bad angle so I can only see the side of her face.

"Can you be a girl for a few seconds?"

"I'm always a girl," Tris says, confused, and I have to stifle a laugh.

"You know what I mean. Like a silly, annoying girl."

"'Kay."

She smiles, and it stretches across her face. "Will kissed me."

My heart stops for a second, then starts beating again at a furious pace. How could she sound so happy, just hours after she left me for dead? About another man? Red spots swim around the edges of my vision, and I have to grip the edge of the door frame to keep from doing something I'll probably regret later.

"What?" Tris shouts. "When? How? What happened?"

"You _can_ be a girl!" She straightens up, still grinning. "Well, right after your little episode, we ate lunch and then we walked around near the train tracks. We were just talking about…I don't even remember what we were talking about. And then he just stopped, and leaned in, and…kissed me."

"Did you know that he liked you?" Tris says. "I mean, you know. Like that."

"No!" She laughs, and I can detect no hint of unhappiness in it. Of course she didn't notice him, I think bitterly, because she was too focused on _me_. "The best part was, that was it. We just kept walking and talking like nothing happened. Well, until _I_ kissed _him_."

Probably the same way she kissed me. I feel as if an invisible hand is clenched tightly around my heart, a sieve squeezing out all feeling and replacing it with bitter emptiness. I don't' want to hear anymore, but I am stilled by surprise, and if I move, break the ice, there's no telling what I'll do.

"How long have you known you liked him?

"I don't know. I guess I didn't." I smile a little, because it is a triumph for me, no matter how small. "But then little things…how he put his arm around me at the funeral, how he opens doors for me like I'm a girl instead of someone who could beat the crap out of him."

She could, I realized, and she almost did, when he wouldn't leave us alone. Now I felt certain that she would take me down without a second thought.

"I'm happy for you," Tris says.

"Thank. I'm happy too. And I thought it would be a while before I could feel that way…you know."

_But you _were_ happy!_ I want to scream at her. _You were happy with _me_!_ I clench my teeth, and my nails dig into my palms so hard I'm sure I've made myself bleed. There is nothing I want more than to make her see what she's done to me, but there's no way I can do that, she wouldn't listen to me. So I turn around, heading away from the dorm at such a speed that it wouldn't be long before I broke into a full-on spring. No overdose, I think. I know a better way.

~oOo~

The Pit is empty when I arrive on my suicide mission. Lucky for me, because if someone was here they'd surely try to save me, and I don't want to be saved. I walk up to the chasm railing with long unflinching strides and pull myself over as if it's something I do every day. It is cold and slippery, but I manage to get a grip as I remove my feet from the ledge.

_Five minutes_, I tell myself. If I can last that long, I will pull myself back up. But I don't want to last that long.

It hasn't even been sixty seconds and I can already feel my arms starting to shake. I used to be stronger, but in the time since I was an initiate Instigate has sapped my strength. I remember pulling myself up to my bunk easily with just my hands. _Four minutes_. Asher slept below me, but on nights when she couldn't sleep she would climb in next to me. Across from me was Four, but he was never in his bunk much. He tried to avoid us-to avoid me-as much as possible.

_Three minutes._ I remember watching Christina hang in this same spot, knowing somehow that she wouldn't fall. When I said she was stronger than Christian, I meant it. Christian was…brave, and strong, but I was starting to realize she might have had a death wish. _Two minutes_. I'm just thinking how unlucky it is that nothing has happened when a crest of white water rears up and sprays me. My hands slip off the bar but I grab it again, some desperate survival instinct kicking in. My hands meet the ground and my face slams into the rock. I feel blood dripping from my nose, or is that just water? One minute, finally. I know I'm not going to make it. So many regrets I'll leave behind. So many bad decisions. _Thirty seconds. Twenty-five._ I wanted to tell her but I wasn't strong enough. _Ten. Nine. Eight._ My hands are starting to slip. Someone's yelling my name, but I can't tell who it is and I don't care anymore. Five. Four. Three. Two. _Christina, I love you._ One.

I let go.

For a moment I am only falling, wind and water around me, and then my back slams into something hard and I hear, over the water, a loud crack. Probably one of my ribs, but I feel fine, and I can sit up. There is something under me that isn't rock. I reach down and my hands find a pool of something warm and sticky. I start to panic and pull myself to a standing position, thinking someone is under me. And I almost fall over again because I'm right and it's Asher and soaking into her hair is a steadily growing pool of blood.


	33. Safe and Sound

_So. I know it's been a while. Like I said, I'm not making any excuses. But I want you guys to know that I'm taking 17 credit hours and my schedule is a little crazy. That being said, we're close to the end of this story, so I'll also be working harder to update.  
>-A.l.y.<em>

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Three: Safe and Sound<br>Eric**

She blinks and her eyes open, blood sliding past them and over her lips, her neck. It's coming from a gash on her forehead, too big for stitches. Once I get over the horror of that, I see that there are gashes on her body as well. Because I landed on her, I realized. She saved my life, and in return I caused her death.

"Asher," I say, and it is a scratch in my throat, full of agony. "Oh, no. Asher." She can't focus her eyes on me but a weak "Eric?" slips from her mouth, and I press a hand to her cheek. "Yes, I'm here." I frantically look for some way to get her up to the Pit. There is no way…unless someone else carried her along with me.

"Help?" I yell in a strangled voice, knowing even as I do so that it's hopeless, no one will be able to hear me over the roaring of the water. "Help?" She jerks violently, pressing a hand to her bloody forehead, and I drop to my knees beside her. "Help," I whisper.

"Eric?" I look up and there's Christina, standing above me on the path. Her eyes are wide and terrified. "I didn't know you were-"

I stand up and take a step towards her. She shrinks back. "Listen," I tell her, almost having to shout. "I know you hate me and you probably never want to see me again, but I need your yelp. _She _needs your help." I gesture towards Asher, but I can't bear to look back at her. Christina's forehead crinkles as she stares at her, conflicted. "Just help me get her to the hospital. Then I'll leave you alone." My voice has started to break, my eyes are blurring with tears, and I don't how much longer I can keep it together. "Please."

The indecision in her eyes vanishes, and she nods, stepping around me towards Asher. She grabs her legs around the knees, and I pick her up, cradling her head as carefully as I can. We begin to make our way up the path, but it is slow going, dripping blood making my hands slick, and trying to keep from slipping on the wet rocks. About halfway up there is a moment where Christina stumbles and my heart stops beating, but she recovers and we continue. When we finally make it up to the Pit, it goes a bit more smoothly.

Even though my attention is focused on getting help for Asher, I can't help but notice the amount of people staring at us. A leader and an initiate carrying a fatally wounded member through the halls. Or maybe they've just never seen me cry before. Probably that. All my energy is usually focused on keeping my exterior…Dauntless. But I don't have time-she doesn't have time-to worry about that now.

When we reach the room that passes for a hospital, the lone nurse looks up and drops the clipboard she's holding. "What happened?"

"Chasm," I say, and she nods. No further explanation is needed. People fall into the chasm all the time. I don't want to mention, however, that she wasn't the one that fell in. How would I explain that? Suicide is much more believable-at least, for anyone who doesn't know Asher like I do.

The nurse pushes me out of the way as she snaps on a pair of black rubber gloves. Having seen the extent of her injuries, I know there's nothing that can be done to save her, but that doesn't stop the Dauntless. There have been a few occasions, or so I've been told, where they actually managed to rescue someone. They are few and far between, though, and there hasn't been one since years before I joined the faction. No matter what we did, it was hopeless.

I can tell the nurse is thinking the same thing, because she steps back and looks at me, obviously distraught. "Her injuries are too severe. I can't help her. I'm sorry." She looks genuinely upset, and I suddenly realize what a toll it must take on her to have a patient die, even though the Dauntless are more familiar with death than other factions. "I'll give you a minute to say goodbye,  
>she says quietly, backing out of the room.<p>

Next to me, Christina laCes her fingers through mine, and I start a little. I'd almost forgotten she was there. Part of me wants to beg her to stay with me because I don't know if I can get through this without her. But the rest of me knows that after this, she'll probably never want to see me again. "How did this happen?" she said, so soft almost no sound escaped her full lips.

"You'll ahte me," I managed to croak out. I don't bother stating the obvious-that she probably already does. I almost don't care anymore. I'd rather be alone after this, anyway.

"No, I won't." I look over at her, shocked. She bites her lip, as if she is deciding whether or not to admit something. "I don't think it's possible for me to hate you. Not after everything that's happened, you know?"

Suddenly I am unable to speak around the huge lump that has formed in my throat, threatening to dissolve into tears at any second. "Yeah. I do."

"Eric?" a weak voice says. Asher. I allowed myself, even for a second to forget about her. _I am despicable_, I think to myself as I quickly kneel beside her bed, taking her tiny hand between mine. It has already gone cold. Out of the corner of my eye I see Christina slip away, and I thank her silently.

"I'm here," I say in as soothing a voice as one can muster when their best friend is dying. "I'm right here."

"I need you to do something for me." Her eyes flutter open, red with her own blood but still beautiful, so beautiful, and I wonder how I never noticed it before.

"Of course. Anything."

She licks her lips, and I instinctively lean closer. "Don't let them cremate me. Send my body back to Erudite."

"What?" Out of all thing things she could've said, this is possibly the last thing I would have expected. "Why?"

She smirks a little. Always sly and secretive, I thought. Even in death.

"Because I know things you don't."

We sit in silence for a few minutes. It is agony watching the life drain from her slowly and surely, knowing there is nothing I can do about it.

"Eric?"

I jump a little. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Asher."

"No, that's not what I meant."

I am barely able to comprehend what she _does _mean, but by that time, eyes closed and an eternal smirk on her lips, she is gone.


	34. Wake

_So…college is hard. That's really all I have to say. This is the first time I've had time to write since the last chapter, basically, for anything outside of class. As always, I hope to update more often, and I'm even working on a couple new things and a rewrite of an old story. If any of you are interested, I did make a tumblr blog specifically for my stories and update information for all my accounts, not just this one. You can find the url on my profile.  
>-A.l.y.<em>

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Four: Wake<br>Eric**

My head hurts. Not the dull, constant pounding of Instigate withdrawal, but something sharp and blinding. It spreads through my body, lighting up more cells with pain as I become more alert. I beg it to stop, to let me go, let me fall asleep again. There is something wrong, and I feel it down to the marrow of my aching bones. It's not an ordinary wrong, either, but one from which I may never recover.

"Eric?" _But how can anything be wrong, hearing a voice like that?_

I open my eyes slowly and there is Christina, looking beautiful as ever but with eyes red and damp. She's watching me warily, like she is expecting a breakdown at any moment. In her hands are some crackers she must've snuck from the kitchen and a glass of water. "You need to eat," she says when she sees me looking at them. The accompanying smile is weak, but it is real, and now I am fully awake.

She sits the water down on the floor (it doesn't spill—she must have cleaned in here) and slides her hand gingerly under my back, helping me up to a sitting position. This small movement alone exhausts me, and I have to lean against the wall to stay upright. I stretch my legs out in front of me and realize that I am naked, and my legs, as usual, are covered in bruises and half-healed scabs. _Did she take my clothes off me? _I think, and for some reason the thought makes me shudder.

"How long have I been asleep?" I take the glass from her, but she doesn't let go of it. Raising an eyebrow, she presses the crackers into my other hand. I bring one up to my mouth and chew it slowly. It tastes like dust and sticks to my tongue, my teeth. The full minute it takes me to swallow the damn thing is filled with tension. She raises the glass of water to my lips, and the room is silent for a moment, with the exception of my frantic gulping. It goes down much quicker than the food.

"Not very long." She grips the now-empty glass between slender fingers, staring into its depths like it holds the answer to all her problems. "A few hours, maybe. Long enough for people to worry."

A few hours. In the back of my drug-addled head I realize that something is wrong with her response. It takes me a moment to realize what it is: her use of the word _people_. "Like who?"

"You know. The other leaders. Ivoree. David." She pauses, bites her lip, and I somehow know her well enough to know she's hiding something.

"You're not telling me something important." She doesn't answer, as good as telling me that I'm right. Part of her last statement suddenly hits me. "What about Asher? Did she say anything to you?"

Silence. Christina bites her lip again, so hard I see blood beading on soft skin. My arm shoots forward, almost of its own volition, and grabs hers, clutching it tightly. "Answer me." I realize I'm shaking her and immediately drop my arm, ashamed. But I can't ignore the problem at hand.

"You don't remember?" she asks tentatively. "You were there…"

The pieces are starting to fall into place in my mind—not that I want them to. The one cracker I managed to force down is threatening to make a reappearance. I shake my head slowly, trying to stop her from saying it, but she does and the words sound like torture coming from the lips that had kissed me.

"Asher…she died, Eric."

That does it. It takes all my strength to shove myself to my feet and stumble into the bathroom before I am violently sick. There isn't much to come back up so for the most part it is just stomach acid, burning my throat and tongue and nose as it forces its way out of me. I can't make myself stop until I am dry heaving and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I sit up slowly, loving the feel of the cold floor on my bare skin, and realize that Christina is behind me rubbing my back in slow soothing circles. My body is shaking of its own accord; I am no longer in control. Christina helps me stand and rinse out my mouth, then wraps a blanket around my shoulders and leads me back to my bed. My tired limbs can't take it anymore and I collapse, shaking, onto the filthy mattress.

Christina is hovering anxiously at the edge of my vision. In the back of my mind, the part of me that is still sane marvels that she hasn't left yet. "Is there anything I can do?"

One thought swims to the front of my mind and I'm grasping at straws because I can't think of anything else to do, thinking hurts too much. "Get me all the bottles."

She knows immediately what I mean. "Aren't you rushing this a little? Don't you want to think about this first?" It occurs to me that she thinks I'm going to kill myself, and the fact that she still cares enough to try and stop me lights a match in some closed-off recess of my heart.

"It's not what you think," I snap irritably, and then immediately regret it when her face pales. She is well aware of what happens when I am angry in withdrawal. "Just get them for me."

She hesitates for a moment, worrying her lip, then goes over to the mirror and returns with two unopened bottles of Instigate. I'd thought there were more, but at this moment I don't bother trying to remember. I take them from her. My hands are cold. "Now leave."

There is no hesitation on her part this time, except to pause at the door. She looks at me over her bare shoulder, and for a moment we lock stares and I want nothing more than to go back to our hallway, to a time when there were no complications, no deaths, no pain. Just us. But those times are gone (were they ever really there to begin with?) and with a whispered "I'm sorry," so is she.

For a moment I am still, and then suddenly I can't take it anymore and I have to stand, I have to move. I stumble over to the chipped dresser and pull on the first pair of skintight black pants I can find. It takes a minute and several near-injuries due to my precarious physical and emotional state. At one point I think I step on a piece of broken glass but I don't care. I'm too far gone to care anymore.

The bottles of Instigate have made their way into my hands without me realizing, and with a guttural scream I hurl one against the wall. The other follows soon after, and the room fills with its sickly sweet aroma. The addict in me screams for mercy, tries to force my concrete hands to move, collect as much of it as I can, save my sanity. But I know that was lost a long time ago.

My knees give way and I fall against the wall, screaming and sobbing and beating the slick plaster with useless fists. My blood mixes with Instigate on the wall and together they slip down it, both wasted. This is all my fault, I think to myself as I sink to the floor. I've tired myself out. I'm not even sure I can go on at this point. Maybe it would be better if I licked the Instigate off the walls, kissed it like I did her, and died that way. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.

But I don't do that. I curl up in a ball on my mattress, stringy hair in my face, and rock back and forth as I mutter "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"


	35. Threat

_I just feel the need to throw this out there: I recently started a rewrite of one of my older stories, and it would be much appreciated if you would check it out. I've also started an official tumblr page dedicated solely to giving progress on updates and other things I might be writing. That being said, I really want to have this finished around the time Insurgent comes out. Hopefully, since my spring break isn't too far away, that can actually happen._

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Five: Threat<br>Eric**

I sleep for almost twelve hours. I know because when I wake, most of the Instigate has dried on the walls, and the nauseating smell has become an afterthought in the air. The thin brown layer that remains screams regret—not that I did it, specifically, but for everything. For Christian, Asher. Christina, now. For even letting that fucking drug into my bloodstream. I know in the back of my mind, though, that if I were back there, two years ago, with the tip of a needle just beginning to pierce my skin, I would do the same thing over and over again.

It's a struggle to get up, both physically and mentally, and for a moment I am tempted to just lie there and see if anyone remembers me, because they need me today. It's Initiation Day, and I have to watch fear landscapes for yours. Like I really need to see what the Stiff is afraid of, anyway, or any of her little friends, or—Christina. Her name flashes through my mind and I am on my feet, rummaging through my dresser for something at least semi-presentable, something that will make me look like a Dauntless leader for one day. A piece of broken glass cuts my hand open, and I stand dazed for a moment, letting blood drip onto my clothes, before it fully registers. Pain shoots up my arm and I yank the glass out, not caring about making the cut worse. It needs to be wrapped anyway. There is gauze in the bathroom, one of the few sterile things I own, and when I wrapped a thin layer around my hand the color shifts until it almost—but not quite—matches my skin.

The me of just a few short weeks ago would have let the cut bleed, accelerating the withdrawal process so I could get high again. He would have let all the initiates see the blood on his hands as a warning about what kind of life they'll have to lead if they make it into Dauntless. When I first chose it, I assumed it would be an escape from my horrendous home life. I was too blond to see it for what it really is: a dead end.

Something inside me has changed, though, and I can't yet tell if it's for better or worse. Despite its possible effects, though, I have changed, and I'm not the only one to notice. The other leaders have been treating differently, with maybe slightly more respect. Not that I was ever anything more than a pity job, anyway, put there for Jeanine's convenience. And speaking of my dear mother, she'll want a report tonight. I'm not the only one with a sneaking suspicion that the Stiff is Divergent, but I do seem to be the only one who thinks it's not important. That the Erudite need to pull their heads out of my mother's ass and take a look at what actually matters. Of course, it I voiced that thought, she would probably have me locked up, son or not. Like she ever even loved me out of the public eye.

"Eric." A banging comes at the door, and I jump, my arm halfway down the long sleeve of a fitted black shirt. "Someone wants to talk to you."

I finished putting the shirt on and pull the door open. Max stands outside, holding a phone and wearing a worried look. If this someone is one the phone, then I have a pretty good idea who it is. Speak of the devil. Another Dauntless would never go through the pone. I take it from him, muttering a wary thanks, and shut the door in his face.

"Hello?" I ask, raising the phone to my ear and trying to sound like I'm not scared out of my wits.

"Eric." Her tone is clipped, hiding behind it barely-suppressed anger. I've gotten good at reading her moods over the years, especially since her rage is so often directed towards me. "We need to talk."

Of course we do. Why else would you have fucking called me? "Make it quick. It's Initiation Day."

"Don't use that tone with me." I bite my lip to keep from retorting. There's no use arguing with her when she gets like this. "Did you receive all the shipments of serum?" Of course this is about her pet project. A serum that allows for extended, controlled simulations. What she plans to do with it, I have no idea, but I know it can't be good.

"Yes. What do you what?" I'm practically spitting the words at her. At this point I've begun to think it would be lovely to be dead with Ash.

"You're going to use it tonight." I open my mouth to protest, but she keeps talking, not giving me a chance to interrupt. "After initiation is over, give it to every Dauntless, remember. Tell them it's a tracking device. Tonight I'm going to activate it, and you will march on Abnegation."

Wait. What? The plan is too ridiculous to even comprehend, but I immediately pick up on one flaw. "What if I find a Divergent?" And I know there's a high chance that I will. Practically guaranteed, with the Stiff around.

"Kill them."

She's lost it. How can she possibly want to exterminate a huge section of our population? Most Abnegation children get Divergent test results…taking out two birds with one stone, I suppose, although I don't see the benefit. I should have chosen Amity, I think. It seems to be the only faction outside of her reach.

"I don't think I can do that," I say coldly. True, I don't support my mother's senseless murder spree, but I have my own reasons for not supporting her. The Stiff is Christina's closest friend, and if I killed her, I would never be forgiven.

"What did you say to me?" I know I've dug myself a hole that I won't be able to get out of. My mother—Jeanine—whatever she is to me now despises insubordination. Especially from me, the crown jewel of her little puppets. Her own son.

"I said I don't think I can do that," I repeat, but my voice falters, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who notices. I can practically hear her vindictive grin, even over the phone.

"Oh, is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I'll tell your little initiate toy that she can't finish initiation."

_No_. "No." It takes me a moment to realize I've spoken out loud, and in doing so fallen right into her trap. I've said exactly what she wanted me to say, and now she knows I have a weak spot.

"Or," she continues, clearly enjoying this, "I could get rid of your poor friend's body."

A dull ringing starts up in my ears.

"Asher, is that what you called her? Yes. What a shame."

"What do you know about Asher?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"We have her body. And very soon, with the right technology, we could bring her back." She sounds so sincere I almost believe she cares. I know better. But I can't risk the life of someone I love.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"I thought so. Be prepared." The phone is halfway out of my hand when I hear "See you tonight."


	36. Fear

_So this happened. Not exactly how I was planning this chapter, but I think it had to happen this way. I know it's probably not what you expected, but…yeah. I just want to say thank you for every single review. I know I'm not very good at replying to them individually but I want you to know that each and every one of them is greatly appreciated. That being said, I am going to be working really hard to finish this before Insurgent comes out. Don't worry, though…there's a sequel.  
>One more small note: the order in which the initiates go through their landscapes differs in this story than in the actual story, the reason being that apparently no one who worked on the book gives two shits about consistency. So I pieced together my own order, as best as I could. There's not much of a mention in the chapter, but I thought I'd clear that up.<em>

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Six: Fear<br>Eric**

On Initiation Day, the Dauntless compound shifts tangibly from mild everyday chaos to full-blown insanity. The Pit is so crowded that it's impossible to take two steps in any direction without getting nearly crushed in the throng of bodies. They gather around screens that show a live feed from inside the room where initiates will face their worst fears. Some of them will leave that room irreparably damaged, and yet the crowd gather, drunk out of their minds, under the glass below my feet to treat it like a sport, purely for their enjoyment. Never mind that most of them should remember how it was to be on the other side of the screen. I know I do, more vividly than I'd like to.

Luckily, this year I am above them all, seated at a table with the other leaders and a head full of wires, which is an uncomfortable situation no matter which angle I try to read it from. I suppose I'm lucky that they can't read my mind, that it's the other way around, because I know they wouldn't like what I'm thinking right now.

The order in which everyone goes through their landscapes is determined from the stage two rankings, and the Dauntless-born go before the transfers. They're also reversed—the person with the lowest rank will go first. Since Christina ranked third among the transfers, I won't be seeing her for a while, so with that thought in mind I've settled into my role as leader, and have made it halfway through the Dauntless-born without incident.

Last year, I barely made it through five landscapes before I excused myself due to nausea and hid out in the Lion's Den for the rest of the day. The truth was, the simulations reminded me too much of Christian, and how she would've come in first if she hadn't taken that stupid bet. The first time the chasm appeared in someone's landscape, I was violently sick, reliving in my mind the day when they told everyone she was gone, how they had known it was all my fault for not saving her. I left then, supposedly to clean myself up, and never came back.

I sit uncomfortably through the rest of the Dauntless-born and half of the transfers before her name is called. She walks into the room, skin ashen with fear, and I stand, gripping the syringe that will show her her worst fears. For whatever sick reason, I want to be the one to stick it in her neck. I want her to know that even if she never wants to see me again, I have the power to break her with one syringe.

She's obviously trying not to look at me as I approach, but eventually we are less than a foot away from each other and she can't help but meet my eyes. Despite everything we've been through and the small part of my mind that can't help but hate her now, I want her to do well. The last thing I want, even if I am upset with her, is for her to end up a fence guard, or even worse, factionless.

"You ready?" I ask her, holding up the syringe.

"I think so." She takes a deep breath to steady herself, but I can see her hands shaking. "You're not going to sabotage me, are you?"

I can't tell, when our feelings about each other are so unsure, whether or not she is joking. "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Well, that's a relief," she says, and this time it's definitely in jest. "Well, what are you waiting for? Stick it in me." She laughs, a little hysterically, and brushes back the fringe of her short hair. I insert the tip of the needle into the thin skin of her neck and push down. She blinks as the serum enters her bloodstream, and I step back, returning to my chair at the end of the row of leaders. I lift the electrodes attached to thin wires, and move to press them onto my forehead.

But I can't. The lights dim in the fear landscape room, and I see her eyes go wide at her first fear, but I have no desire to see what is scaring her so. Instead I hold the electrodes up to my forehead, millimeters away from the skin, and try to make it look like I'm rubbing my temples while the wires are secured there. I'm not sure how well it's working, but I know I can't bear to watch. I can only steal glances upward as she progresses through two fears, three, five, eight. Nine. Nearing the point where she will be considered average and no one will look too closely at her times. I worry, though. If she takes too long, she'll end up at the bottom.

I refuse to put the electrodes on, but I'm watching her intently now. There's fear in her eyes but confidence in her posture, and I can't help but hope that every fear she faces will be her last. Eleven. Twelve. Nearing the cutoff of fifteen, the top range of average. My hands are beginning to tremble and I fight to keep them steady so as not to alert the other leaders to my tension. Thirteen. Hopefully this is it. I can't take my eyes off her. And then—

"Eric," she whispers.

My head snaps up and I press the electrodes into my forehead. It was so quick and so quiet I don't know if anyone else noticed it. I pray they didn't, though if Jeanine knows about our little affair there's no telling how many of the other leaders are already aware. In any event, they will know now.

I blink and I am inside the landscape, standing in a place that looks oddly familiar to me. It's the hallway, dead-ending in a sheet of ragged rock. I stopped coming here in my mind, it was too painful. But here I am, looking at…myself.

"Back for more, I see," my doppelganger says, smirking. Piercings pull wide holes in his lips, giving him a devilish air. _Do I really look like that?_ I think to myself. No wonder people are inclined not to trust me.

I heard a small gasp and realized I was standing next to Christina, who is staring at me—the other me—with abject horror. Mutely, she shakes her head.

"I know you are," he persists. "You can't hide it." He steps forward and grabs her arm, and she bites her lip. Trying not to appear afraid, to appear weak. I would know, she's done it around me enough times.

"Look."

She glances down at her arm—and screams. When I follow her gaze, I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. Her arms were crawling with black, rivers of tar where her veins should be. Instigate. I gag. No matter how many times I've imagined the same gruesome overlap on my own skin, I can't handle seeing it on her.

"No!" she yells, grabbing her own arm so tight I thought she was going to rip it off. But the rivers of death are slowly receding, dripping out of her fingertips. She stares intently at the pool forming under her hand. "You can't control me anymore."

Then it is over, and I find myself staring at the real Christina, on all fours and breathing heavily. After a moment, she collects herself and stands. I am the first one in the room, holding the needle that will inject her with Jeanine's serum. I don't want to have to lie through my teeth to her, but when she sees the needle her eyes widen in fear.

"It's just a tracking device," I say softly, my voice cracking. "Trust me." Our eyes meet and she tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck. Even after all this…

I have to blink back sudden tears as I inject her with the serum that will take away her free will. And as she rubs the tender spot where I've hurt her one too many times, I whisper "I'm sorry."


	37. Rank

_I am on fire this week. There might actually be a decent chance I'll get this finished by Insurgent…_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rank<br>Eric**

There is no more doubt in my mind, I think as I disconnect the wires and electrodes from my skin .The Stiff is Divergent, and I can tell from the other leaders' sideways glances that they're certain too. However, I don't look forward to reporting this to Jeanine, as I did last year. I no longer have any desire to displace my anger into hunting Divergents. Not to mention that if Christina ever found out I was responsible for the death of her closest friend, I would never have a change with her. That would be the end. But it was never going to happen, because I refused to help.

I blink a few times, shaking off the rest of the simulation daze, and follow the rest of the leaders into the room where the landscapes are programmed. Unfortunately, I will be the one to inject her with the syringe, so all her wariness—and maybe a hint of anger—is directed squarely at me. I glance at the leader who's holding the syringe and then direct my attention to her.

"Congratulations, Tris. You have successfully completed your final evaluation." I try to make m voice sound as smooth as possible, though I'm not sure how well I'm succeeding.

"Thanks." She doesn't smile, doesn't do anything at all. I wonder if she knows about me and Christina, if she suspects anything. It's unlikely she would have told anyone, but if she did, Tris might have been the only person she would trust.

"There is one more thing before you can go and get ready for the welcoming banquet." I gesture toward the other leaders, and one of them hands me the black box containing the syringe that I'd been so desperate to get rid of just a few short minutes ago. "At least you aren't afraid of needles. This will inject you with a tracking device that will be activated only if you are reported missing. Just a precaution."

"How often do people go missing?" I should have known she would be the one to give me trouble.

"Not often," I reply, smirking as I remember the incident from a few days ago, when she'd left the compound. "This is a new development, courtesy of the Erudite. We have been injecting every Dauntless throughout the day, and I assume all other factions will comply as soon as possible.

"All right," she says, surprising me. I was expecting her to put up more of a fight. I clean off her neck and inject her with the serum. It's easier to lie to her than it is to Christina, probably because I don't care about her as much, but I still feel a bit guilty. It's unlikely the simulation will work on her, though, being such an obvious Divergent.

"The banquet is in two hours," I inform her as I smooth a bandage over the injection site. "Your ranking among the other initiates, Dauntless-born included, will be announced then. Good luck."

I can't stay in this room, with these people, a moment longer. Luckily, the other leaders seem to have forgotten I exist, because I am the last one out, and they don't tell me to follow them. I won't be helping them decide the rankings, which is probably a good thing, considering how biased I would be. Instead, I make my way to the cafeteria.

The initiates of two years ago are sitting in a group at one of the tables. Normally, at least half of the group—Four's friends—would have protested when I joined them, but it's Initiation Day, and the groups that went through it together tend to stay together today. I sit down across from David and Ivoree, who are holding hands. Someone passes me a brown bottle, and I drink its contents without bothering to ask what they are. I've almost stopped worrying about my own death at this point, because anything would be better than the hell I'm living in right now, with my mother trying to control me and all my closest friends already dead.

"This isn't right." I turn to see who's speaking, and it's Zeke, with his head in his hands. "There should be more of us here."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. As far as I know, Zeke never gave a fuck about Asher, and didn't bother even trying to contact any of us when she died. And as for Christian…I can't help but thing that some part of all of us was glad she was gone. Still, I agree with him. We started with ten and now, less than two years later, we are down to eight.

"Yeah, there should be." Someone slides into the seat next to Zeke. It's Four. He looks around at all of us, but though he meets David and Ivoree's gazes, he can't meet my eyes.

"I heard about Asher," he says, not quite looking directly at me. Zeke tries to hand him one of the bottles I so recently drained, and he waves it away.

"Of course you fucking did. Probably jumped for joy, knowing she's dead."

"Eric," Ivoree says, a hint of warning in her voice. It's the first time I've ever truly heard her sound angry. David puts his hand over hers.

"I never said that," he replies softly. "Actually, we knew each other better than you might think. But we all knew her, despite how thoroughly she belonged to you. Is it really that hard to believe I'd say something kind to you about it?"

The first word in my mind is 'yes,' but I press my lips together, choosing to remain silent. I remembered just as well as anybody, though from an outsider's perspective, how difficult it was to become friends with Asher, especially during initiation. A lot of people who met her when she initially transferred automatically categorized her as either a bitch or a slut, without realizing what she really was, who she really was. I had every reason to think that Four would hate her.

"Guys, stop," David said. "Just…let's remember them, okay? That's enough." Silence falls again, and I stare into my empty glass awkwardly.

"Eric." Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I jump. Max. He hands me a microphone and pulls me to my feet. "It's all yours," he says, gesturing at the crowd. I climb on top of the table clumsily and tap the microphone, eliciting feedback, until everyone is quiet.

I clear my throat. "We aren't big on speeches here. Eloquence is for Erudite." The crowd laughs. They obviously don't know my background. "So I'm going to keep this short. It's a new year, and we have a new pack of initiates. And a slightly smaller pack of new members. We offer them our congratulations." I wait for the pounding to die down before I continue. "We believe in bravery. We believe in taking action. We believe in freedom from fear and in acquiring the skills to force the bad out of our world so that the good can prosper and thrive. If you also believe in those things, we welcome you."

The cheering is deafening, but I don't stop. I need to get out of the public eye. "Tomorrow, in their first act as members, our top ten initiates will choose their professions, in the order of how they are ranked. The rankings, I know, are what everyone is really waiting for." Including myself. "They are determined by a combination of three scores—the first, from the combat stage of training; the second, from the simulation stage; and the third, form the final examination, the fear landscape. The rankings will appear on the screen behind me."

I know they are up, but I don't turn. I want to see her. I scan the tables until I find her, wide-eyed and tearful, pointing at the screen. She reaches over to hug Tris, and over her shoulder she catches my eye and mouths "seven."

Seven? Seven! A weight lifts off my chest, and for the first time in days I feel like I can breathe. She's not factionless. Jeanine can't hurt her. And as far as Dauntless leadership is concerned, there's no issues with us being together…if she happened to still want me.

Max calls my name again, and I turn around to see all the other leaders facing me. My eyes flick up to the screen—Tris in first. No one is surprised. "Don't forget. We march tonight."


	38. Blackout

_I know I've said this already, but with every chapter I crank out I'm more and more confident I'll be able to finish this by the deadline I've set. Thanks for all the reviews! Next chapter begins the march on Abnegation!_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Eight: Blackout<br>Eric**

The music makes my ears ring and drunkenness dulls my tongue as I slouch in the corner of the courtyard where Asher used to hold her raves. For longer than I've been here, the previous class of initiates have held a party for the newly initiated. I remember my party quite vividly—getting ridiculously drunk, shooting up, fucking Asher in an overgrown corner like the classy Dauntless leader I was going to become. Exactly two years ago I was only a budding addict, barely able to handle half a syringe of undiluted Instigate. Now, I feel as if every drop of it in the world would nto satisfy the craving that's worked its way into every cell of my body. Not just a craving for the drug, though, but for liquor and sex and attention—preferably from Christina.

But she won't even talk to me. I saw her after I turned away from the other leaders, kissing Will. It sent the weight crashing back down on my chest, even though I should've expected it. I did, however, get to witness a very interesting and public display of affection between Four and the Stiff. No matter how upset I've been, I can't help but feel vindicated that my anger-driven accusation turned out to be correct.

I can see Christina now, over the head of the girl who's currently trying to rip my clothes off. This is the only day of the year that anyone ever recognizes me as a real Dauntless leader, with all the position's social perks. Last year I would have taken full advantage of this, most likely bringing a string of girls back to my apartment one after the other. Now the feeling of a stranger kissing my neck is unpleasant, to the point where I am beginning to feel nauseated. Over her, I see Christina dancing with Will. I can't take my eyes off her swaying hips, which is probably why this girl—whoever she is—thinks I'm actually enjoying being pinned to the wall by her overzealousness.

My entire body aches, driven mad by lust and longing. There's a gaping hole in my chest drilled in by loss, and I wonder if it will ever be filled. I wonder if, after tonight, there will even be anyone left to fill it, or if everyone I love will be dead. As long as she is alive, I will hold on to the stubborn hope that Christina will come to love me back. The small, sensible part of my mind knows it is unlikely, that she will marry Will and have little Dauntless babies and train initiates like she wanted to. We'll have to work together, I realize, if she takes Four's job, and the thought puts a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. If she's not going to be mine, I'd rather not see her at all.

"Eric?" I start, but it's just the girl on my chest, who has straightened up and is looking at me with an expression I can only describe as unbridled drunken rage. "You're fucking staring at another girl!"

I shrug, which in hindsight was a terrible idea, and she straightens up haughtily. "You don't deserve to be a leader," she snaps, and before I know what is fully happening she's thrown her drink in my face. I squeeze my eyes shut to rub the alcohol out of them, and by the time I open them she is gone. I lick my lips and let my hands drop to my sides. There's no point in trying to clean myself off, I think, since I'm probably going to spend the rest of the night brooding in this corner. David and Ivoree aren't here and no one else actually enjoys or even tolerates my company. I might as well leave, but I can't bring myself to face the reality of tonight. The last thing I want to do is help my insane mother kill a bunch of Abnegation.

Try as I might, I can't keep my eyes off Christina for more than a few minutes at a time. My attempts to avoid looking at Will fail miserably as well. The sight of them dancing together, his hands on her hips, sends a red hot current of rage and jealousy through me. I want to go over there and punch him right in that smug little grin, but I refrain for her. The only thing holding me back from telling my mother to go fuck herself is the knowledge that if I do, Christina will become first on her hit list.

They've stopped dancing now, I realize. It looks like Will is going…somewhere. To get drinks, probably, because he's a "gentleman" like that. In the back of my mind, I know that he is what she deserves: someone who will treat her the way she should be treated and not just get her addicted to illegal drugs. Maybe if I could keep that in mind, I could find peace in the fact that she didn't choose me. I will watch and adore her form a distance, like I am now—except now, she is staring straight at me.

I blink a few times, sure that the liquor has made its way to my eyes and I am hallucinating. But no, she is looking at me, still in the center of what barely passes as a dance floor. It's difficult to move under her gaze, but I have to get out of here. She's no doubt unhappy to see me. I break my stare and duck through one of the many holes in the steadily crumbling brick wall. For a moment, I think I hear her call out "Wait!" behind me, but I'm probably just hearing things.

The Spire is only a few yards away. If I hurry, I can avoid any awkward encounters and get where I'm actually supposed to be, with the other leaders preparing for the march on Abnegation. But just as I lay my hand on the door handle, I hear my name.

I turn around and there she is, running to catch up with me. She's wearing a skintight black dress and holding a pair of heels, looking far too much like Asher for my liking. (In my mind, the two of them do not mesh.) Her bare feet slap on the pavement as she tries to stop me before I go inside. I am frozen at the door and she skids to a halt barely inches away from me, breathing heavily. I can smell her perfume and it's a drug, intoxicating me just as much as the bottle of liquor had.

"Hey," she says breathlessly. I don't reply verbally, just raise an eyebrow, trying to act like the leader she met on day one. The last thing I want to do is reveal how the mere sight of her makes my knees weak in a way that no drug in the world ever could.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she murmurs, like she doesn't want to admit it. "For…well, for everything."

Silence. I am stunned. In my mind she has nothing to apologize for. It was all my fault. Well, mine and hers. And Instigate's.

"I know you saw what was in my landscape." She leans down, slipping her shoes back on one at a time. "I want you to know it's not you I'm afraid of."

"Then what is it?" I ask. Now I'm the one who can't breathe. The melodramatic eighteen-year-old in me feels like his entire existence hinges on her answer.

"This," she says, and then she's kissing me and her hands are on my neck. All rational thought escapes me and I pull her in, stifling a moan in her mouth. Her lips are soft and full, and biring down on the bottom one elicits a groan from somewhere deep in her throat. My hands roam the small of her back and drift down her thighs, gathering the hem of her tight dress in my palms. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private," she gasps as I move my lips to her neck.

"That would probably be—"

"What the hell?"

We break apart and I see a shadow over her shoulder with two drinks and a familiar voice. Will. As soon as he realizes it's me that's kissing her, he turns saround and stalks off. Christina, predictable as she is, hurries after him, pausing only once to look back at me and mouth one of her useless apologies. Then she rounds the corner and, just like every other moment of my useless fucking life, I am alone.

_Well_, I think to myself. _I suppose it's time to march._


	39. March

_The goal for finishing the story is March 16, with the sequel published on the 20__th__ in tandem with Insurgent. That means there will probably be a lot of double updates, although I don't know about today._

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Thirty-Nine: March<br>Eric**

The Abnegation sector is quiet at night, much more so than in Dauntless, where it is never quiet, or Erudite, where they have lights on at any given hour without giving a damn about city ordinances. There are no lights on here save for the occasional streetlamp, because the Abnegation do not break rules. Lucky for the mind-controlled Dauntless, who are going to storm the sector, not so lucky for Abnegation. The plan is to target only the government officials, but I wouldn't put it past Jeanine to just kill everyone, especially if someone got in her way. Much more efficient to just gun down anyone who steps into the path of a bullet. Despite being the most intelligent person in the faction, or so she claims, her instincts and emotions still occasionally get the best of her.

"When will they be here?" I ask Max, who is standing a few feet away from me.

"Any minute," he replies, not looking at me. "The simulation has been activated. They should be getting on the trains now." I eye him nervously. He doesn't understand how off-putting it is to be here alone at night. I was the first leader to arrive—the rest have been showing up intermittently, Max being the last.

True to his word, a moment or two after he finishes speaking, I hear the blare of a horn, and the headlights of the first train come into view. I know it is filled with Dauntless standing in perfectly straight rows, slack-jawed and empty-eyed, holding guns. I know Christina is one of them, and thinking about it twists my stomach into a knot. I do not want to see her like this, blindly following someone else's orders, which she would never do if she was awake.

But she isn't. And I am.

The train comes to a screeching halt and Dauntless zombies begin filing out of the cars, orderly in a way real Dauntless would never be. I wonder what the Erudite used to bribe the factionless who drive the trains to stop them in the way they're doing. It must have been a lot, considering the factionless do not seem to me to be a very cooperative group as a whole. I am keeping my eyes peeled for Christina, thinking that maybe if I can get to her first, I'll be able to order her away from here. Or would I? Would Jeanine have programmed the simulation to ignore or even outright reject certain orders? Has she out-thought me before I even had a chance to think?

The hypnotized Dauntless begin to march past me, branching off one by one after Max gives them orders. Soon, I will begin to hear the gunshots that indicate the deaths of Abnegation leaders, and anyone else unlucky enough to be in the line of fire. I count a few minutes of relative silence and then a blast, followed by another, then another. I want to cringe and cover my ears but I force myself to remain stoic, if for no other reason than to save my own ass. The line of soldiers in front of me is slowing to a crawl, and I spot someone out of the corner of my eyes. Two someones, rather, and suddenly I know what I have to do to protect myself.

"This is insane, I say, stepping forward to examine the Stiff more closely. I am not lying. It _is _insane, but not in the way they think I mean. I poke her cheek and note that she flinches just the slightest bit. I know she can comprehend anything I say around her. I may be annoyingly noncompliant, but I'm not stupid. It was a long shot the serum would even work on her in the first place.

"They really can't see us? Or hear us?" someone asks behind me. I don't turn to see who it is.

"Oh, they can see and hear. They just aren't processing what they see and hear the same way." Being a lab rat for serum testing my whole life has given me a disgustingly thorough knowledge of how they work. "They receive commands from our computers in the transmitters we injected them with…" I find the Stiff's injection site and press down on it, which reminds me of Instigate, which reminds me of Christina, and for a moment I lose my train of thought. "…and carry them out seamlessly."

I look behind her, where Four is standing, and shift a little closer to him. "Now, this is a happy sight. The legendary Four. No one's going to remember that I came in second now, are they? No one's going to ask me 'What was it like to train with the guy who has only _four fears_?'" I slip my gun out of its holster. Part of me does want to kill him, but not because I came in second. I'm not as sore a loser as people want to paint me. He wasn't just a fellow initiate two years ago, he was my friend. And somewhere in the middle of stage two, it had all gone to hell. I think we all knew what caused it, but we were too afraid to say. "Think anyone would notice if he accidentally got shot?" I tilt my head to the side, hoping it will look like I'm actually considering this, when in reality it's just a suicide mission.

"Go ahead," the woman behind me responds. Another leader. Of course, that's the only way she would be able to hear me. "He's nothing now."

My hands shake as I click the bullet into its chamber. "Too bad you just didn't take Max up on his offer, Four," I say, trying not to let my voice quiver. "Well, too bad for _you_, anyway."

I do not want to do this. I was hoping the Stiff would stop me, or kill me, I don't are. Or that Four would turn out to be Divergent and shoot me himself. I know if Christina ever wakes up from tis simulation, she'll hate me forever, and Ash is already gone. Even if my mother makes good on her promise and brings her back, she'll be better off without me. I can pretend that it was an accident until I bleed out.

His hand twitches a bit. I was right, Four is Divergent, but I don't have much time to register that, because the next thing I know, the barrel of a gun is pressed to my forehead. I can feel my face to slack in surprise, but I quickly compose myself. It doesn't actually come as a shock that the Stiff has been hiding Divergence all along. What _is_ is that she's willing to put her life on the line like this. She was a good actor, putting on an innocent front the whole time.

"Get your gun away from his head," she demands, her index finger hovering all the while over the trigger of her own.

"You won't shoot me." I'm purposely underestimating her, hoping to make one of them mad enough to actually do it. Lately it's become too much work to act like I care about anything other than Instigate and Christina. Might as well care about nothing at all.

"Interesting theory." For a second I let myself hope that she'll actually do it. Then suddenly the barrel of her gun is off my forehead and aiming at my foot. I watch as her lips press together, and then she fires and the bullet goes straight through.

And the pain begins.

A guttural scream slips out of my mouth as I grab my foot with both hands, which is probably a terrible idea. My gun is on the ground, and the second it hits Four draws his and fires. I don't know whether or not he was aiming for me, but I don't get hit again. They turn and sprint towards the alley, trying to make a run for it. But they won't get very far. I hear a shot and Tris falls to the ground. Four could probably still make it, but he stays, stubborn, just like he was when I met him two years ago.

A couple of the Dauntless pick me up by the arms and help me limp over to where they've halted. When they put me down, I stay balanced on one foot, although I'm already starting to sway. I don't want to let on how much pain I'm in, but it must be obvious. I can feel blood dripping into my shoe, and I have enough brainpower left to wonder if I will bleed out and get what I want after all.

"Divergent rebels." I am going to pass out any minute, I just know it. "Surrender your weapons."


	40. Bleed

_The author's notes are probably going to be small or nonresistant on these chapters because of how quickly I'm writing them. Thank you all for the reviews! Hopefully another chapter will be up today._

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty: Bleed<br>Eric**

I watch as Four and the Stiff are stripped of their weapons and forced into the back of a van that will take them to Abnegation headquarters. It's not much of a walk, but we'll want to make sure they aren't harmed any more than they've already been. Tris manages to spare one final death glare for me before the door slams in her face. Four, however, doesn't even glance in my direction. I wonder if he can read my expression, if he saw me at the moment of his capture and knew I'd been trying to get myself killed. When we had actually been friends, it was easy for us to read each other. Almost second nature, coming as easily as every part of my relationship with Asher. The time we spent apart could have ruined that, though. It certainly had for me.

I don't hate him anymore. At least, I don't think I do. Our two-year feud seems petty and stupid now, after everything else that's happened. We're more alike than we are different now—both Jeanine's guinea pigs. I know she's been working on another serum, one that even Divergents won't be immune to. No doubt Tris and Four will be her first test subjects. I know it's unlikely to work on the Stiff in the event that Jeanine decides to test an injured Divergent, which is unlikely. She likes her lab rats to be in perfect condition. Four, however, is practically ready to be strapped down in a testing room right now.

The selfish corner of my mind is beyond ecstatic that it's him being tested and not me. However, with every second I spend thinking about it, I'm closer to bleeding out. Hot blood is already beginning to pool in my shoe, dripping onto the ground, making me gag when I dwell on it for too long. To fix myself up, I'll have to go to the place I hate most—Erudite headquarters. Much as I can't stand it, they're the only place guaranteed to treat me now.

But I can't go quite yet. I need to find Christina and make sure she's all right. I don't know whether or not the simulation would prevent Dauntless who are under it from harming each other. If at all possible, I know I need to order her out of here. David and Ivoree are under the simulation as well, and if I can get to them before I pass out…well, all the better. Unlikely, though. And if I only have time to get to one of them, my decision has already been made.

I grip the shoulder of a Dauntless soldier, who seems to have been assigned the role of "Eric's left leg," because he's been standing next to me, perfectly still, this whole time. Wordlessly, I begin to limp forward, and he follows me without needing to be prompted. It's a bit off-putting, honestly, that he can't even speak unless he's commanded to. For someone who can barely keep his mouth shut at the best of times, it seems the ultimate torture to me. Well, next to whatever my mother would do to Christina and I if we are caught. If I am caught.

I know I should leave and forget about her, at least for now. She'll probably be safer if she plays along. But if I ever want her to love me again, I need her to know that I didn't just stand by and let her murder innocent people. That's not her. And it's not me, either. Somewhere along the way I lost that, and now I am plagued with constant survivor's guilt. If this is the way I need to get rid of it, then so be it. Besides, if she died and I lived…I don't even want to think about that. I could never forgive myself.

The pack of soldiers has spread out considerably since they first arrived. They've split into smaller groups, raiding the Abnegation houses, looking for leaders and shooting anything and anyone who dares get in their way. I wonder if they've kept the new members in a group. If they have, all I need to do is find one of them, and they'll lead me straight to her.

With that thought securely in the front of my mind, I begin to scan the throng of black-clad hypnotized Dauntless for a familiar face, someone I would recognize as an initiate. The most obvious option, Tris, is clearly out, considering I sent her off to certain death at the hands of Jeanine just a few moments ago. I know for a fact that Peter is among those guarding the compound, due to his suck-up nature. If the government is doing something important, of course he's going to try and weasel his way into it. So who does that leave me with?

I'm limping unsteadily past my fifth row of identical gray houses when I spot him, coming out of a doorway a few yards ahead of me. Will. Possibly the last person I want to see, but right now I think I could kiss him—because a few second behind him, stepping through the door frame, is Christina.

I call her name in a strangled voice, but she doesn't respond to me. Even form here, I can tell she has the blank-eyed, slack-jawed stare that all the other Dauntless are currently wearing. I should have known better than to think she'd somehow be safe. That doesn't matter right now, though. The real question is: can I order her away from here, or has Jeanine beat me to the punch and prevented it?

"That way," I say to the man currently acting as my leg, and we begin to make our way in Christina's direction. With every step I take she gets farther away, and I wonder if I'll ever catch up with her. When I look down I notice I'm leaving a trail of blood behind me, which probably means I'm only minutes away from passing out due to blood loss. I have to get to her before that happens. I need to get her out. "For fuck's sake, carry me if you have to! Just get me over there." I point directly at her. Maybe if I say the order quickly enough, and she follows up on it immediately, she'll be out of here before Jeanine notices. It's a foolish thought, but it's the only chance I have.

We're only a few feet from her now, having finally gotten the hang of three-legged running, so close that I can tell how blank her eyes really are. It's almost painful to lok at her, wearing a face the real Christina would never have even considered putting on. I yell her name again, full of the blood dripping from my foot, and she stops. For a moment I think maybe in some recess of her brain a memory was triggered, and she recognizes me. But then she swings her gun up at me and I know the truth.

Jeanine programmed her to kill me.

She must have known I was going to do this. It's not a surprise to me. Instead I feel dread pooling in the pit of my stomach because she is going to kill me and I will let her. It's the right thing to do. If it means she'll be safe.

I close my eyes and wait for the shot, but instead a voice calls out "Wait!" and I open them and it's Max, approaching me with needle in hand. I don't know what's in the syringe but the sight of it along fills me with equal parts longing and fear. He whispers something to my temporary leg, who leaves. I fall to the ground, biting my lip so hard I draw blood in an effort not to scream. He kneels next to me and presses the needle into my neck. As whatever it is drains the consciousness out of me, I hear him say "Jeanine said we might have a little trouble with you."

I want to punch him but I can't move, paralyzed by whatever he injected me with. So I open my mouth and ask him the only thing that comes into my pain-addled brain. "You're taking me to her, aren't you?"

He nods.


	41. Test

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-One: Test<br>Eric**

I was seven years old the first time Jeanine Matthews decided it was somehow morally acceptable to use her only child as a test subject for drugs and simulation serums. To be fair, and maybe to play devil's advocate a bit, I was the perfect age for the trial she was working on at the time. This specific drug was aimed primarily at children and those who were anxious about taking medication orally. She and a small research team had developed a pill that would be tasteless, dissolve instantly, and not cause any nausea. Most of the test group was in my age demographic, and my mother had promised to pay me in books, which was every Erudite child's dream. She said nothing would go wrong.

Of course, she was lying, and less than ten minutes after my first dose I was violently sick. I ended up in a recovery room on the floor of the compound that was used mainly as a hospital. For three days I stayed there while they forced dose after dose down my raw throat. And on that third day, another bed was wheeled into my room. It contained a young girl, probably about my age, with pale skin and dark hair splayed over the pillow. A sterile white cast swallowed her entire leg. She was clearly asleep when they brought her in, and I used the time to study her uninterrupted, being as she was the most interesting thing I had seen in three days. By the time she woke up I was almost so attuned to her sleep-movements that I didn't realize she was staring straight back at me.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, causing me to jump a little. She looked angry, like if we were closer to each other she would smack me. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking away. After a moment, I asked "What did you do to your leg?"

"I jumped off a Dauntless train." I couldn't stop myself, then, from looking back over at her. She was smirking.

"How'd you manage that?"

"My sister doesn't keep a very good eye on me. She basically lets me do whatever I want. Although she'll probably kill me when she hears about this."

To me the concept of a caring guardian was so foreign that I couldn't even comprehend it. Instead I asked her "What's your name?"

She grimaced. "Ashleigh Thomas. But don't call me that. I hate it."

"What should I call you, then?"

"Whatever you want, Eric Matthews. Just not that."

"How—how did you know my name?"

She rolled her eyes. "I saw your chart when they brought me in."

I couldn't help but smile at that. She was the first person my age I'd ever had a real conversation with. "Whatever you say, Asher."

It was the first time we visited that room, but it wasn't the lst. I went back for several other failed simulation and drug trials, including (ironically) a few for Sighted. The last time we were there, Asher pulled a felt-tip pen out of her pocket and wrote "Asher was here" in block letters behind one of the carts. It was right before Choosing Day, right when we made the decision to leave together. "I want them to remember me," she'd said as she wheeled the cart back into place.

So of course, when I wake, I know exactly where I am.

Everything looks the same—the crisp white sheets on uncomfortable beds, sickly blue paint on the walls, a place for everything and everything in its place. Except me. I am not in my place. My place is next to Christina and I am not there. But if I were to try and see her now, it would end badly for both of us. I wonder, not for the first time, if she will be able to remember any of this when the simulation is over, or if she will wake in the midst of a war with no idea how she got there. Either way is unspeakably cruel—and exactly like something Jeanine would do.

Now more than ever, I have a renewed desire to get to her and somehow make her stop. I know it's impossible, but it hurts to think about what they're doing. Or maybe that's just my foot, which I belatedly notice is wrapped in bloodstained bandages. I'm reaching forward to take them off, which is probably a terrible idea, when the doorknob starts to turn.

Panicked, I lay back down and try to look like I'm sleeping—eyes closed, deep, even breathing. Footsteps click on the tile of my room, and stop just beside my bed. "Don't think you're going to get away with that fake sleeping thing, Eric Matthews. I've seen it enough times to know."

I crack my eyes open and hovering above me is the face of Riley Thomas-Andrews, Asher's half-sister. Of course they would assign her to me. I've only met her a few times, just enough to make me feel uncomfortable around her. I wonder if she knows that Asher is dead, and how she's taking it. They were never particularly close, especially when one takes into consideration the almost fifteen-year age gap between them. My mother wasn't the only person who was upset when the two of us transferred together. Bad influences, that was her excuse. As if the Dauntless are any worse than the Erudite.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, too surprised to be polite, even though in the back of my head I know exactly why she's here.

"Trying to heal that." She points at my foot. "We've made some progress, but it's still bleeding. I wouldn't try walking on it quite yet." She begins to unwrap the gauze and for a minute we sit in silence, which is not unusual. We never really had anything to say to each other.

"Do you know about Asher?"

She sighs. "Always with the nickname. She was the only one who ever liked it, you know." Another pause. "Yes, I know."

"Have you seen her?" I don't know why I keep torturing myself, but I can't help asking.

"No. They're not letting anyone see her. Word is they're very close to…bringing her back, though."

I feel like a hand has closed around my lungs in a vice grip. It's become difficult to breathe. "But you know where she is, right?"

She bites her lip. "Yes, I know where she is. I suppose you want me to take you there."

Suddenly unable to speak, I nod. There is visible hesitation on her face. Hopefully the fact that I was her sister's closest friend will make up her mind…

"Fine. But don't tell anyone." Heedless of her advice, I stand unsteadily on my newly-bandaged foot. I don't say anything, afraid she'll change her mind at any second, but she doesn't, just sets her clipboard down with a sigh.

"Follow me."


	42. Soul To Keep

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Two: Soul To Keep<br>Eric**

Much of the Erudite compound looks the same, so much so that it's easy to get lost if you don't know where you're going. Every floor is identical, rows of sterile white doors spaced out in light blue walls. It's supposed to calm us down, the blue, but all it does is make me anxious because it fills me with memories that are compressed mostly of needles, pills, and unwelcome side effects. Every unpleasant sensation I've ever felt is somehow connected to these blue walls—except Christina. It takes comfort in that, knowing that even the pain she made me feel is separate from this awful place.

Riley's shoes click on the floor as I follow her down several flights of stairs. The air around me gets progressively darker and I realize we must be going to one of the underground labs. It makes sense. This is the place they keep things that aren't public record, that the researchers wouldn't want anyone to see. Asher would be one of those things. I know the Erudite have long been trying to develop a serum that would reverse death. They claimed it was only to be used in cases involving premature death, but I know better. It hadn't been an issue for a while, since the most successful formula only worked on those whose hearts had ceased beating less than a few minutes before it was administered, and not for very long. I hadn't even thought of it as a possibility when Asher died because it had failed so spectacularly. But I've been away from Erudite for two years. Obviously, a lot has changed since I've been gone.

"This is the first time I've been back in the compound since I transferred," I think out loud as we descent our fifth flight of stairs in near-complete darkness.

"Really?" Riley says in reply. "I thought Jeanine would have called you back for…meetings and such."

I'm not surprised she knew about the plan in advance .She's been on several research teams headed by Jeanine, so they clearly know each other. "No, we always met in Dauntless. It was more logical. Five of us, one of her."

"Ah." For a while she doesn't say anything else. We leave the stairwell and start down a dimly lit hallway. Then out of nowhere she stops and turns to face me. "Why did you do it?"

'What?" I panic for a moment, thinking she knows the exact details of Asher's death, even though no one could know that except for the two of us, and she is dead. I am the only living soul who knows. Well, me and Christina, and she's practically a zombie at this point.

"Just agree to do what she says like that. What's wrong with you?" Her tone makes it sound like an accusation instead of a question, which must be the real intent behind it. But there is a hint of genuine curiosity there, just the kind of thing characteristic of a true Erudite, mixed with just enough admonishing sympathy to make me feel like I need to respond.

"One of the closest friends I made during initiation…she was Divergent. Afraid of nothing, practically—brave to the point of life-threatening idiocy. She took a bet that she couldn't' hang over the chasm for five minutes. I came with her to keep time." My voice catches in my throat for a minute. "She didn't make it. And later I realized it was someone in the middle of this…scheme" –I gesture to encompass the whoel compound— "who told her to do it in the first place."

"Seems like you should be upset with them." She mimics my gesture. "Not Divergents."

"I know. I am now. But back then, when I didn't know who caused it, part of me blamed her. So when I was offered a chance to exterminate the Divergents, I took it. I thought maybe if there weren't people like her around…there wouldn't be so much pain." I shake my head. Sixteen seems a lifetime away. "I was young and stupid, I know."

"You're still young and stupid." I open my mouth to retort, but she holds up a hand and effectively cuts me off. "What I mean by that is your brain isn't finished developing yet. Jeanine can't possibly think you're ready to handle all the emotional stress this is putting on you."

"Yeah, well Jeanine" –I make sure to say it in the most condescending voice possible— "really never cared about me anyway."

"I can believe it." We stop at a door and she starts rummaging through her keys, trying to find the right one. "From the way she talked about you, I always thought you were a publicity stunt. Or a conveniently willing test subject."

"But I wasn't willing. Not right at the end, anyway. She was threatening…" I break off, suddenly remembering who I'm talking to.

"My sister? I'm not surprised. They never really got along. Just like you and I never got along." _Ironic then, isn't it, I think, that you're helping me right now, aren't you? Unless that's not your real motive…_

"We're here."

I snap back to reality as she holds up the key before inserting it into the lock. The door swings open ominously and she reaches inside. She feels around on the wall for a minute, presumably looking for a switch, and then I hear "Aha!" and the room is flooded with light, making me blink. The room is blindingly white, sterility leaking from every surface. It's filled with gurneys, mostly empty, and stacks of sheets in the corner. On the tables were hundreds of test tubes, all filled with the same murky gray liquid. And on the gurney farthest from the door, under a sheet…

"Ash." Before I'm entirely aware of what I'm doing, I've pushed past her and am making m way down the room. I pass gurney after gurney, all of them empty, and it makes me feel as if something is wrong. If they're still testing so extensively, why is she the only one here?

I reach the last gurney and pull the sheet back and there she is, looking as if she were sleeping. Most of her wounds have been healed, though there is still a large gash on her forehead. She's hooked up to several machines that are breathing for her, pumping her blood. They must be close, if they're even bothering to do that. It gives me a little bit of hope, although if they're going to keep her here I don't know how well this will turn out.

My determination to get to Christina has been renewed. I turn back to Riley. "Thank s for letting me see her. I need to get back to Abnegation, though. They're expecting me there," I lie.

She bites her lip. "I'm sorry, Eric, but now that you've seen this, I don't think I can let you leave."


	43. Soul To Take

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Three: Soul To Take<br>Eric**

"What do you mean, I can't leave?" I grip the sides of Asher's gurney so tightly my scarred knuckles begin to turn white. She can't possibly mean that. I have to go, I have to get to Christina. She could be dead by now, all because of her association with me. That's the last thing I want, to be responsible for her death.

"Eric, this is classified information," she says softly. "If they found out that I showed you this, I could lose my job, or get kicked out of Erudite, even. So I'm going to lock you in, and when they find you I'll cry and say I was overpowered. They have no reason not to believe me, especially since you're a traitor." The whole time she's been speaking, she's also been inching closer and closer to the door, and by the time I realize what she's doing, I'm too late to do anything about it. I let go of the gurney and start toward the door at a dead spring, but after only a few yards my wound can't take it anymore and I stop, collapsing next to one of the empty gurneys. She pauses at the door to look back at me, and I almost believe there is genuine regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry. Maybe if you're lucky, she'll wake up." Then the knob turns and she is gone.

I slam my fists on the cold floor in frustration. The doors here are locked with a system that is fingerprint-based. There's no way I'm in the database anymore, not two years after I left Erudite. I'll be trapped in here until someone decides to let me out, or finds me. Jeanine already knows I'm here, surely, and all of her higher-level lackeys must know as well. I have a feeling they'll be waiting until all their Abnegation targets are dead before they let me out. Unless…unless my print is in the system because I've been compliant up until now. It's a long shot, but it just might work, and it's my only chance.

Before I even think of attempting it, though, I need to find something to stop the pain in my foot, or else I won't be able to run. The most likely scenario is this: after a few seconds, someone will tell the system I am not allowed in here. The door will slam shut, bolt itself, and the doorway will be crisscrossed with a grid of lasers invisible to the naked eye. They aren't made to kill, just to incapacitate until guards arrive, and if I were in normal condition I could easily deal with catching my foot on one of them. But not when I am already injured. One hit will bring me straight down.

With that in mind I pull myself to my feet shakily and hobble towards the shelves that are pushed up against the wall. If I am right, and this is the same standard stock in every other hospital room, there should be some sort of painkiller here. I rummage through several shelves' worth of various medicines, aware that with each misstep time is ticking away and Christina could be dead, before I find it. Of course, it needs to be injected, but since the wound itself is wrapped n a thick layer of bandages inside my shoe, I stick the needle into my ankle and pray that it works. After a moment, the pain begins to leech away, and I thank whoever created the medicine for the fact that it works so quickly. Now there is only one hurdle left, but it is the biggest—get out before I am caught.

For the plan to work, my timing needs to be flawless. No guards patrolling near me, and preferably a train coming when I get out of the building. Despite the fact that the Erudite guards are trained in combat, they likely won't be able to board the moving train. It's not as easy as the Dauntless make it look. I wait another minute for the pain in my foot to vanish completely, and my eyes land on the rows of grey-filled test tubes on the table. I pick up a few and shove them into my pocket. Better to have some sort of insurance, I think. There's no telling what she could have done to Christina by now.

Tentatively, I take a few steps forward on my injured foot, and find that it holds up well to walking. I spring the length of the room a couple times just to be sure. It isn't exactly wise to waste any energy before I actually need to run, but I have to make sure it will stand up to whatever I need to do. I throw a few punches and kicks at an empty gurney. This would be much easier if I had a weapon, but I dropped my gun in the Abnegation sector. I don't even have a knife anymore—but maybe one of those boxes contains a sedative. I remember knocking a box to the floor that seems likely, and when I find it is filled with exactly what I hoped for: small packets, one side adhesive, that when attached to the skin release the sedative. I fill my other pocket with those, and only after looking back at Asher one last time do I approach the door.

The fingerprint scanner on this side is up and active, which means the door is locked from the outside. I take a deep breath and press my thumb to the screen. It lights up green, and I hear the bolt in the door beginning to unlatch. The screen above my print reads _Matthews, Eric_ in lettering almost the same shade of green as the screen. After a moment, I hear another click, and the door swings open. I am out.

I push my way through the door as quickly as my injuries will allow and start down the hallway immediately, not waiting to see if the silent alarm has gone off. I do not have the element of surprise here. If the door let me out, it means that Jeanine wanted me out. She would never overlook something that important, no matter how small and innocuous the detail seems to everyone else.

I am exactly two floors under the nearest exit, and already I am at the door to the stairwell. If I can make it onto a train without being seen, I am home free. He question is, how many guards have been left at Erudite headquarters, and now far away from me are they?

I take the stairs three at a time, despite the fact that my foot has already begun to protest. Of course the painkiller was meant for a short period of time. I should have taken extras. The syringes would have been decent makeshift weapons, as well. I hesitate once I reach the door to the main floor. If there is any place practically guaranteed to be guarded, it's here. I have no other option—I'm going to have to make a run for it.

Quietly as I can, I ease the door open. Just as I thought, the desk is manned, the main doors guarded. If I can get to a side door, I can probably avoid them—but, I realize, they'll be expecting that. My best option would be to run straight between them, hopefully surprising them. After one more deep breath, I begin to sprint.

As I expected, it takes them a moment to realize what's going on, and by that time I'm already at the door. I hear it slam shut behind me, a metal grid sliding into place as the emergency alarm begins to sound. I see the headlights of a train in the distance. If it takes them another minute to unlatch the gate, I will be out of here unscathed. I just need another minute…

Something catches me in the ankle, just inches away from the bullet hold, and I scream through gritted teeth as I fall. I try to push myself back up, but the dart—at least, that's what I think it is—has made my foot completely numb, and it's beginning to spread up my leg. It doesn't really matter, anyway. The guards are on me, pulling me up by my jacket, my hair, anywhere they can reach. I struggle, but it's no use.

"Where are you taking me?" I spit out, straining against their arms.

"Where do you think?" one of them snaps in reply. "To Jeanine. In Abnegation headquarters."


	44. Coerce

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Four: Coerce<br>Eric**

My mother is furious. She looks calm, but I've had years of practice, and have subsequently become very good at, reading the real emotion behind that façade. The guards have me on my knees in front of a desk, which she is sitting on top of. When I was young, the only time she ever came in front of the desk to yell at me were when I'd done something really bad. Once, when I was about ten, Asher and I had knocked over an entire rolling cart filled with what we didn't know was an early version of the death-reversing serum. Asher got off with a warning from her sister, but I was hauled down to Jeanine's office and pushed into a chair in front of her desk.

"Oh, Eric," she'd sighed, resting back against the desk, her face nearly touching mine. "Why would you do something like that? Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

That's how I feel now—like a scared child waiting to be reprimanded. Her glare isn't entirely focused on me, though. She keeps cycling her rage to the guards, and me, and back again. It's both relieving and terrifying. I don't want her whole focus to be on me, but I'm used to it being that way. Maybe, I hope, she'll just yell at me a bit and then leave me to my own devices. But my brain knows better. She's not going to let this one go.

I feel something dripping down the back of my leg and realize with horror that the vials of death serum must have broken in my pocket when I fell. I can feel pieces of broken glass digging into my skin as well. The fact that I even realize these things is good to an extent, though, because it means the numbness is starting to fade from my legs.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jeanine says calmly. I tense, sure she is speaking to me, but when I risk a glance up, I see she is looking at the guards.

"We think he was in one of the underground labs," a guard replies. I can't twist my head to look at him because there is a hand at the nape of my neck holding me tightly. "We caught him trying to escape."

"Do you realize who he is?" I can feel my muscles relaxing, my teeth unclenching. She is going to make them let me go. Any child from her womb, she'd claim, would be treated with the same respect shown to her. Of course, that wouldn't apply to her treatment of me, but at least it would get the guards off me, and for once I am thankful for her mountainous ego.

"No, ma'am. Like I said, we found him trying to escape the—"

"That is my son," she hisses, "and any child that came from my womb will be afforded the same respect you would give to me."

A choked laugh escapes my mouth, and she turns her glare on me. I swallow nervously and bite my lip.

As quickly as they'd first grabbed me, the guards' hands vanish, and I fall forward, almost smacking my face on the gray tiled floor of Abnegation headquarters. I manage to catch myself by throwing my hands out, but it makes my palms ache. "Of—of course, ma'am," the guard stammers, and I hear his clumsy footsteps stumbling backwards. "Our apologies."

"Leave," she snaps, for the first time showing the slightest bit of emotion. The guards retreat, the door closes, and now we are alone, and it's my turn.

"Get up," she says without looking at me. I hear the click of her heels as she resumes her position behind the desk. Maybe this won't be as terrible as I thought. I struggle to get to my feet, gripping the desk white-knuckles, and another scream rises in my throat when I put weight on the bullet wound in my foot. But I bite it back and stand, keeping ahold of the desk, barely two feet away from the woman who ruined my life.

"Why bring me here?" I whisper, gathering as much courage as I can muster, balancing shakily on one leg. "Why not just shoot me again and leave me to die?"

"Oh, Eric, don't you understand?" To the untrained ear she almost sounds loving, but in reality she's adopted the unique condescending tone I've only ever heard her use on me. "Don't you understand that you're much more useful to me alive than dead?"

"How? How is a son who can't follow even the simplest of your ridiculous orders of use to you? If you kill me and word gets out about how I really feel about this, you've created a martyr. If you leave me alive, I continue to be disobedient. Either way, you lose," I say in a voice that sounds far more confident than I actually feel.

"Oh, I think you will obey." She grins sadistically. "As long as I have our friend's body in Erudite and your precious little initiate under m control, I think you'll continue to do everything I tell you."

"Why would I?" I know as soon as the question is out of my mouth that I have betrayed myself. I heard my voice shake, and I can tell by the triumphant expression on her face that she did too.

"Because if you don't, you'll never see them again."

"It's nothing she hasn't threatened before, and my rational mind knows that. But on instinct I grip the desk tighter, face ashen with fear. I see the look of victory on her face and I know she thinks she's won. But she hasn't. I'm just a better actor than her.

"So, what will it be?" she asks. "Life or death?"

I would rather die than keep doing her disgusting bidding, and I am about to tell her so when the door behind me opens and a guard rushes in. "Terribly sorry to interrupt, but the simulation's been shut down. It's pure chaos out there."

Her eyes widen in shock and so do mine, as I realize I have an opening now to get to Christina. Jeanine comes back around the desk, less than a foot away from me. "What do you mean the simulation's been sh—"

A small grunt escapes her mouth as I press the adhesive tablet onto her neck with enough force to leave a bruise. Without stopping, I cross the rom to the guard, who is staring blankly at me, and do the same to him. I have the element of surprise here, and because of it both of them are unconscious on the ground. I relieve the guard of his gun and look out the window. Everywhere, Dauntless are screaming, crying, dropping and picking up weapons, fighting each other. The beginnings of a full-on war. Armed with the knowledge of what I am facing, I head out of the office and start down the stairs to the ground floor. It's time to finally do what I came here for. I have to find Christina.


	45. Willpower

_So, new plan. Two chapters today, two Wednesday, two Thursday. There are going to be a total of fifty chapters in this story plus an epilogue. The epilogue will be posted on Friday, Insurgent day, and immediately after that I will post the sequel, which will be called "Broken Boy Soldier." That's how this is going to work. Truth be told, I'm a little sad about finishing this after working on it for so long…but oh well. Thanks for the reviews, they really keep me going!_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Five: Willpower<br>Eric**

The chaos I viewed from the window of Abnegation headquarters increases tenfold once I'm actually on the street. A blast of sound, screams and sobs and arguments, hits me as soon as I open the door. Dimly, over the white noise of voices, I recognize the sound of breaking glass. The Dauntless have broken into smaller groups and are fighting while the Abnegation left alive run for cover. It's a smart move, and probably what I should be doing, but I'm determined to find Christina. I need to get her out of here, even though I have no clue where we would go.

I begin to push my way through the crowd, looking at every face I pass to see if it's her, though I would know if it was her from her posture, body language, the way she carries herself. I've become so familiar and so intimate with her that I feel as if I could spot her from a mile away. But as I make my way down block after block and don't see her, I begin to panic. My chest tightens, and I have trouble breathing. What if they took her? What if someone saw what I did to Jeanine? Did anyone even have the ability to see it? Abnegation doesn't seem like the sort of place to be riddled with security cameras, though when I think about the continued Erudite presence here, it becomes a very clear possibility in my mind. Once that thought is in my head, I begin to move more carefully, sticking to areas more shrouded in darkness or navigating through large clumps of Dauntless.

I don't know if the initiates are still together, but I keep an eye out for any of them, hoping they still have the ability to lead me to her—though, I realize, they might not be willing to, how that the serum is no longer in effect. I just have to pray that they believe I wanted peace.

"Eric?" I turn around and Uriah is behind me, blood dripping from a scratch in his cheek. "What are you doing here? All the other leaders are in there." He points back towards Abnegation headquarters. I've fucked up again, made it too obvious that I think differently than they do. Hopefully this will work in my favor.

"Uriah." I grip his shoulder tightly, and he flinches. I try to make my expression look as earnest as possible, which isn't difficult considering the subject matter. "I need your help. You have to tell me where Christina is."

He takes a step back, immediately suspicious. "Why do you want to know where she is? She was programmed to kill you, you know—" My eyes narrow as his widen and he snaps his mouth shut, both of us aware that he's just revealed to me a vital piece of information.

"You're Divergent," I accuse him. It's the only way he could have known about anything that went on while the simulation was in effect.

"Quiet!" he hisses, bringing a finger to his lips. "Do you want me to be killed? You probably do." He pauses. 'What are you going to do with this information?"

"Nothing, if you tell me where Christina is."

We are at an impasse. I can tell he doesn't want to give me any information, but if he refuses, I will turn him in to Jeanine—or, at least, that's what he thinks. I would never in my life do something that would actually help her, but he doesn't need to know that. I just need him to tell me where Christina is, and I'll leave him alone. I couldn't care less about anyone else.

"Fine," he grumbles, "but you have to swear that you won't turn me in. And that means ever, not just now.

Too afraid to speak, I nod.

"Look, I can't guarantee this is still where she is, but I saw her a few minutes ago over there." He points behind me, in the direction I'd been going before he stopped me. "I think she was heading towards one of the alleys. Probably trying to get away from all this craziness." With a single sweeping gesture, he manages to encompass the warring Dauntless in the streets and dead Abnegation on the ground. "For all I know, she could be gone by now. But if I were you, that would be the first place I'd check."

I let a sigh of relief slip past my lips. If I move quickly enough, I should be able to catch up wit her. "Thanks," I say to Uriah. "Your secret's safe with me." Without another word, I spin around and head in the direction he pointed me.

The crowd thins out the farther I venture into the outskirts of the Abnegation sector. Most of the chaos is focused around the center, near the faction's headquarters. With each block I travel I see less and less faces, the noise begins to dim, replaced by a dull ringing in my ears. I risk calling her name a few times, but get no response. The silence is deafening after all the noise just a scant mile away, which I can still hear if I concentrate hard enough.

Part of me is almost afraid to find her. I'm terrified that she will be injured, whether physically or emotionally. Being around my mother, even if it's only through a simulation, can do that to a person. God knows I've got enough emotional damage to last me a lifetime.

Suddenly the background noise dims as a new and terrifying sound presents itself: screaming. Or, more accurately, Christina screaming. I would recognize that voice anywhere. I take off, half running and half limping, towards the sound of her pain. She is a few blocks away and as I near her, I find myself gritting my teeth, trying subconsciously to block out the sound.

I round a corner and skid to a sudden halt, because there she is. She's kneeling on the ground in front of someone. It's a body, Will's body, and he's been shot through the head.

"Christina." My voice is quiet and choked but her head snaps up anyway. I start towards her, but stop short when I see the expression on her face. She's glaring at me, pinning me in place.

"You," she snarls. "You did this."


	46. Comfort

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Six: Comfort<br>Eric**

"What?" For a second I think she means I killed him, which is impossible, as I wasn't here when this happened, though I did admittedly have a motive. If Will is gone, then theoretically, I get Christina all to myself. But I would never have gone so far as to kill him. I would have settled for factionlessness. I thought she would know that, that despite my public appearance, I never actually wanted to hurt anybody. That I regret every single thing that led us to this moment, except her. I could never regret her.

"You did this," she repeats, surging to her feet. "If you hadn't been feeding her information this whole fucking time, none of this would have happened." I can see tears dripping down her face in a steady stream. Even though no one of this is actually my fault, I still feel guilty for ever having any less-than-friendly feelings towards Will. I can tell she is on the verge of a mental breakdown, because her hands are beginning to shake.

"I didn't do anything," I reply, holding my hands up in a gesture of surrender. Maybe if I show her that I won't hurt her, then…"You know that. I was trying to stop her."

"No!" Suddenly she's right in front of me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. I almost fall again due to my injured foot. "You never tried to stop her. All you ever did was get high." She levels a glare at me and I realize she's right. That is all I've ever shown her. Maybe it was the wrong choice to try and keep her out of my busy life in politics. I've been trying too hard to protect her, even though the point of initiation was to show everyone you're not a child anymore.

"You're right, I know. I should have done something to stop this." But even my confession isn't enough to stop her from screaming at me.

"All you ever fucking did was shoot up! And shoot me up, and get me fucking addicted, and ruin my life! We could have been doing something besides making 'do-me' eyes at each other! We could have stopped this! But we didn't and now Will is dead and it's all your fucking fault!" She collapses forward, onto my chest, and I catch her instinctively, though I'm not sure how long I can hold her up with only one good leg. "It's your fucking fault," she mumbles into my shirt through a sob, and I stroke her hair semi-awkwardly, not quite sure how or even if I should be touching her like this. We're not exactly together anymore, although we never officially stopped seeing each other, and she was the only other person to witness Asher's death, which binds us together whether she likes it or not. And we kissed, just earlier tonight. What does that mean?

But not isn't exactly the time to be pondering the intricacies of a relationship that may or may not exist. There's a crying girl on my chest and the body of her boyfriend (I hate to think the word) lying a scant few feet away. Not to mention the war being waged a few blocks down, in the streets of a once-peaceful faction. If we want to avoid getting sucked into it, we need to leave. Now.

"Christina," I say softly, untangling her from my arms as gently as possible. "We need to get out of here as soon as we can. There's no telling what they'll do if they find us together like this." I don't need to tell her who 'they' are. She already knows.

"Okay. I don't want to get you in any unnecessary trouble." She smirks, reminding me of the trouble we're already in. "But…can I say goodbye first?"

She gestures towards Will, and I nod reluctantly. "Thank you," she says, and stands on tiptoes to kiss my cheek before she turns away. I press my hand to my face absentmindedly and watch as she kneels next to Will's body. He is barely recognizable. I don't know how she was even able to figure out it was him, with his head split open. She grabs his hand, which is covered in his own blood, and presses it to her face, whispering things I probably don't want to hear. The whole thing is a bit too intimate for my tastes, so with a barely-suppressed sigh, I turn away.

I remember once, when I was younger, an Erudite boy getting sick and dying. Looking back, I'm sure it was purposely, as a test for the death-reversing serum, but I didn't know that at the age of twelve. A few days later I stumbled upon Asher crying silently in a corner. It was almost terrifying, because I'd never seen her cry before. When I asked her what was wrong, she said "I used to tutor him. He was a nice kid, always got good marks. I don't understand why this had to happen to him."

I feel now exactly like I felt then—as if I'm intruding on someone else's grief, something so deeply personal that I don't even understand it. Christina's relationship with Will, as a boyfriend and fellow initiate, was vastly different from mine, as an initiate I was overseeing. It's something I don't know how to comprehend. I wonder if this was how she felt when Asher died—confused, awkward, like she was the intruder. I wish I could give her more space, but considering we're in the middle of a war, this is the best I can do.

If we leave and end up separating, will I ever see her again?

"Eric." I feel a tap on my shoulder, and it's her. "We can go now. Thank you for that." My throat suddenly feels full, and I nod again, utterly incapable of doing anything else. She grabs my hand and tugs me forward, and together we walk out of the alley.

And into utter chaos.

Dauntless has split in two. One half is gathered around the leaders, who stand on the steps of Abnegation headquarters. The other half are running for the trains.

"I don't know what this is," Christina mutters under her breath, "but it can't possibly be good."


	47. Traitor

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Seven: Traitor<br>Eric**

"Which way do we go?" she hisses under her breath. We're huddled in the mouth of the alley, watching as people run past us in both directions, pushing each other to make way for themselves. No matter what way I look at it, we're stuck. If we join the Dauntless running for the train, my mother will label me a traitor, and if we join the leaders, Christina is in ever-present danger from Jeanine. I don't want to be hurting her, but I can't just abandon the other leaders unless I want to bring their collective wrath down on us. I won't do that to her.

"You're going to get on the train," I tell her, and let go of her hand. It's one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but it's the only way I can be sure she's safe. I need to break all ties with her and convince Jeanine I am no longer in love with her, which is a task bordering on the impossible, but I it will keep her out of this mess, I'm willing to do it.

"And what about you?" She narrows her eyes. I know she's not stupid, and soon enough she's going to figure out what I mean, and she won't be happy about it.

"I'm going over there." With one bloody finger, I point towards Abnegation headquarters, where the leaders and half of my former faction are plotting to destroy the world as we know it—if it hasn't been taken down already. Things will never be the same after this, no matter how much I want them to be. I have to do what is best for Christina, and even though I hate it, right now what's best for her is leaving her behind, getting her somewhere she'll be safe and staying away from her.

"No, you're not." She grabs my arm so tightly that I will probably have bruises later. As if I wasn't already injured enough, both physically and emotionally. "I won't let you."

"But I will. Whether you like it or not. Christina, do you know what she'll do to us if I betray her? She'll never leave us alone. I already know what it's like. I don't want that for you."

"And what if I don't care?"

For a minute, I am shocked into silence as we stare each other down. "You can't possibly care about me that much." I sound self-deprecatingly joking, but I mean it. The thought of someone even giving two shits about me is completely foreign, when the concept of caring is applied to anyone except Asher, who always cared too much. It's especially difficult to understand in terms of Christina, who has absolutely no reason to even like me. Everything she said was right. I was the one who got her addicted and completely fucked up her life. Instead of being a normal initiate, she was saddled with me. She has ever reason, at this point, to hate me.

"But maybe I do," she whispers. "Maybe I…"

I wait a moment to see if she finishes her thought, but now she won't even look at me. Instead she stares at the ground, biting her lip. "Maybe you what?" I ask, hoping it will prompt her to answer.

But it doesn't. "You're hurt," she says, dropping to her knees to examine my foot. When she presses gently on the skin hear the bullet hold, I gasp sharply through clenched teeth. "Sorry," she says hurriedly, pulling her hand away and finally glancing up at me. "What happened?"

"Your little Stiff friend shot me. To be fair, though, I was trying to kill her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend." She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "That'll take some getting used to. I can't believe that was going on this whole time. Wait, did you know about this?" she asks me nervously, like she's afraid to know the answer, and I can't lie to her.

"Somewhat. I suspected it. The way they act around each other…" I shake my head. "It was obvious to me that they felt something for one another. Him, anyway. I can read him fairly easily."

"I thought you couldn't stand each other." I sink to the ground next to her, stretching out my injured leg. It almost feels like we're back in our hallway again, except for the sounds of war washing up against the wall.

"Not always. We used to be friends, back when we were initiates. Then Christian happened." I try to shrug it off but it's still painful to think about. "She changed a lot of things."

"Including you." Her hand slides up my leg, trying to be comforting, but all it does is make me anxious.

"Christina. I pull away so I can look her in the eye. "I need to know what you were going to say earlier."

"Why?" she asks, immediately suspicious. I didn't mean to throw her guard up. Now it'll be twice as difficult to get her to tell me.

"Because I just need to know. It'll drive me crazy if I don't. Besides, I'm not sure when we'll even see each other again." I've said the wrong thing. Her face becomes ashen, and she clutches my hands.

"You can't leave." I'm not sure whether she's aware of the fact that she's shaking her head. She looks like she's going to be sick.

"I can, and I have to. It's the only way I can keep you safe."

"Don't you get it? I don't care about my fucking safety! I just want to be with you."

"Why?" I ask, honestly confused.

"Because I fucking love you!"

She immediately shuts her mouth, eyes wide, but she can't take it back, and the declaration hangs awkwardly in the air between us. We stare at each other a moment and then, voice shaking, I say "Maybe I love you too."

Another minute of silence and then we're kissing desperately, both of us painfully aware that this might be the last time we see each other. She can't change my mind, and I think she knows that. We're going to have to separate. I pull back, only inches from her face, and whisper "You get on the train and get out here. I'll meet up with you later, wherever you want, but right now I have to look like I support them."

All I want is to prolong the inevitable goodbye. Leaving her is going to be hell. But she just nods and says "Candor headquarters. In an hour?"

"If I can." It's difficult to look at her, so I don't as I pull myself to my feet. But I feel her take my hand and I do look at her, and she grins a little, and we walk out of the alley.


	48. Train

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Eight: Train<br>Eric**

The chaos has begun to die down, but it's nowhere near extinguished. Most of those who fled for the train are gone, with only a few stragglers left behind. Hopefully she'll be able to blend in and make it to the Candor sector safely. She should be okay there, at least for now. Whatever this is, her hold faction isn't a part of it quite yet. We stop to look at each other before I drop her hand. She grabs it again, just a hint of Candor stubbornness left under the fully-Dauntless exterior. "One hour," she insists, and I nod. My eyes are thirsty, drinking her in, because if things go wrong here it's unlikely I'll see her again, at least for a while. It looks like she's thinking the same thing.

Then she drops my hand and sprints towards the oncoming train.

It's harder than I thought it would be to watch her go. I want to scream after her, beg and plead for her not to leave me. There might be no one else I can trust now. I don't know where David and Ivoree went, Asher is dead, and Four probably hates me at this point. My best change at survival is to get in good with the Erudite, even though it's the last thing I want to do. But I have to pretend I approve of their plan for mass murder until I can get back to her. Jeanine might not be swayed by my sudden change of heart, but the leaders might, if I play my cards right.

With a heavy sigh, I begin to work my way towards the yelling coming from Abnegation headquarters. It's slow going, due to both my injured leg and the fact that I don't actually want o be here. The closer I get, the louder the cacophony becomes, until I round the final corner and am greeted with a truly disturbing sight.

Black and blue. Whole sea of it, intermingling, making me sick to my stomach. The Dauntless are roiling, clearly on the verge of yet another outbreak of senseless violence. Above them, on the steps, are the other four leaders, surrounded by guards who are passing scraps of blue fabric back through the crowd. And standing in the middle of it all, even higher on the steps, is my mother.

"We will not be governed by those who are selfish!" Max is yelling. "Who abuse their positions and use them to hoard goods that should be evenly distributed! Who abuse their _children_!" _Four, _I realize, he's talking about Four, and the rest of Abnegation. I can't help rolling my eyes at the other accusations. Yes, their leader Marcus was corrupt, but that was one person. One in hundreds. The Erudite are not inciting a rebellion for the good of the people. They're doing it because my mother is a greedy, power-hungry bitch who wasn't satisfied with being the smartest person in an entire faction.

I reach the brainwashed crowd and begin to push through it, earning myself several pointed glares and becoming the subject of a lot of angry muttering. At some point I think someone steps on my foot, because the pain doubles and it takes all my effort not to scream. The steps are getting closer and closer and I can't help but hope that maybe she'll believe me and leave me to my own devices.

"I'm less than a foot away for the stairs when someone shoves me, hard. I got down quickly, without enough time to catch myself. When I hit the steps it is right on my face. I feel my nose crack, and hot blood starts to drip onto the ground below me. If I can get access to some of the medicines in the Erudite compound, I could heal it almost instantly, but after tonight it's unlikely I'll ever be let near them again. Jeanine is good at convincing people she s right, and it won't take much of that to get them not to trust me. Of course, that could easily go the other way as well…

And speaking of my dear sweet mother, here she is, right in front of me. I can see her heels just a couple steps above me. Slowly, I push myself to my feet, dizzy from hitting my head. There is blood on my mouth and I spit it on the stairs, not caring now it makes me look because I don't need to make it any harder for me to breathe. She wrinkles her nose at me but doesn't say anything. That's a start, at least. If she's not calling me out for any behavior she considers uncouth, she probably won't try and publicly call me a traitor.

"Do you see this?" Max roars, hauling me to my feet. "This is what happens when you try to fight them!" I'm staring out at the crowd, trying to comprehend what's going on, when a heel comes down forcefully on the bullet hole in my foot. This time I can't help it, and I do scream, reaching down towards the injury, but someone grabs the back of my jacket to keep me upright. "But we will not let this happen to us!"

A roar rises from the crowd, so loud that it makes my ears ring and I wish I could cover them. It's horrible to watch, knowing that she's brainwashed these people so thoroughly that even though tie simulation is over, they still hang on her every word. Somehow, they can't see the lies behind her, and neither can the other Dauntless leaders. But I can't let on to that now, or else the mob will probably kill me themselves.

Jeanine steps up and the crowd falls silent. "When the next train arrives, you will all take it to Erudite headquarters. Anyone who wishes to retrieve their things form the Dauntless compound may do so at a later time. We have rooms set up for you already. Our first order of business is rooting out the rest of the Abnegation leaders, the ones who somehow managed to evade up this time. Next time, they will not be so lucky." The cheering begins again, accompanied by clapping and people stomping their feet. They leave in clusters, lining up to wait for the train, ad soon it is just me, the leaders, and Jeanine, and the sounds of rebellion are distant.

"That was quite a show you put on," I say to Jeanine. It's risky to make comments like that around her, but I'm already so angry I can't see straight anyway.

"Wasn't it?" Her lips turn upward in a smirk. It looks like she's going to eat me alive. "I noticed you weren't convinces."

"No. But I'm willing to play along, for now."

"To save her life."

I don't' say anything, but my face must give something away, because her grins widens. "I knew you wouldn't entirely give her up."

"It doesn't matter why I'm doing this," I snap.

"On the contrary, that's all that matters. Now, shouldn't you be getting to headquarters?"

"Soon enough." I turn and begin to walk towards the train tracks. "As a leader, I really should get to gather my things first."


	49. Seperate

_One to go. I'm about to go see Insurgent, and the last chapter/epilogue will be posted sometime tonight, along with a little surprise…_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Forty-Nine: Separate<br>Eric**

Despite the fact that I am (or was) one of the most important people in Dauntless, all of my worldly belongings manage to fit in one bag. Every piece of clothing I own, most of which are ragged and torn. The box that holds my syringe and a tattered strip of one of Christian's shirts, and a skimpy dress that had been Asher's. A few first aid things, mostly bandages and disinfectant, because I know I'm going to need them. And lastly, hidden under a loose tile in the bathroom, a stack of photographs.

Having access to a camera is rare in Dauntless, and physical copies of the pictures are even rarer. But Ivoree had one for years, passed down by her parents. More recently, she'd been using it to take pictures of Asher's finished tattoos for the design book she kept in the parlor. Two years ago, though, she's been using it to document initiation, and her gift to me when I was announced as a leader was the pictures she took.

At the top of the stack is our entire initiate class. I remember wondering how she'd managed to get all of us together, but she had. In the picture Asher has me in a headlock, and both of us are grinning widely. It's been forever, it seems, since I smiled like that, purely happy without worrying about what would come next. I sigh a little as I flip through the rest of them. Most of the photos are candids, either of us making ridiculous faces in the middle of sentences or so blurry I can barely tell who is supposed to be in them. It's rare that one of us is actually looking at the camera. The second to last photo is of me, flanked by Asher and Christian, both practically hanging off me. It hurts to look at it, knowing either of them are alive now. Especially Ash. Every time I re-realize she's gone, it's like a knife to my heart, because in so many ways I feel as if she's still here, and any second she'll walk through the door. Blinking back tears, I move it to the bottom of the stack.

The last picture is of me and Four.

I have to stare at it for a few seconds before I recognize us. There was a reason this one was at the bottom, I remember, because a year ago I would have gladly erased any proof that we were friends, but I couldn't bring myself to destroy any part of Ivoree's gift. We look almost…happy, tough, to be sitting next to each other in this picture. At least, we weren't trying to kill each other. It's strange to look at, knowing that there was a time when our little group actually got along. Before Christian died, and we split in half, Camp Four and Camp Eric. I wonder, now that everything's gone to hell, if we'll be able to get along again.

The thought of the two of us being friends is so strange that even now, on the train heading to Candor, I've taken the photo back out to stare at it again. I keep thinking that maybe if I tilt it a certain way, the truth will reveal itself, and the picture will show how we came to hate one another, each of us constantly blaming the other for her death. If he knew how much I actually blamed (and continue to blame) myself, this might not have happened. But it did, and it's too late to fix it now.

Suddenly, the horn of the train blares and I shove the photo back into my bag, getting up as quickly as I can on an injured foot. Looking out the window, I see the lights of Candor headquarters. I can't look far enough ahead in the darkness to tell if Christina is waiting for me by the tracks, but either way I have to jump now. If I don't I risk missing her entirely. So, with a deep breath and my bag firmly secured on my shoulder, I get a running start and leap off the train.

Landing on my injured leg is more painful than I imagined. Instead of remaining upright as I'd wanted, I fall to the side, gripping my foot tightly in the hopes that pressure will dull the pain. It makes my nose smart as well, even though I set it and it will heal properly. This isn't the first time it's been broken. After a minute I rise to my feet. The pain isn't as important as the worry I have for Christina that is gnawing at my insides. I need to find her.

"Eric?" I look up and she's standing a few feet in front of me. She approaches me cautiously, hands held out in front of her like she's trying not to startle me. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. A little dizzy, though," not to mention listing severely to one side because there's a fucking bullet hole in my foot. I limp up to her and pull her against my chest. A huge weight has just been lifted off my shoulders, and I can final breathe again. "I can't even express how happy I am to see you."

"Yeah," she says, muffled against my shirt. "Me too." She leans up to kiss me, and for the first time I'm not consumed by the nagging worry that someone is watching us. It doesn't matter anymore. Jeanine already knows, and for now she'll hopefully be content with the fact that we're physically splitting up. If Christina stays here, at least for a while, she'll be safe. In the back of my mind, I know not even Amity will be able to stay out of this war for long, but I'm willing to take any opportunity I see to keep her out of harm's way for a few days.

With a groan, I push her away, just far enough back that I am able to see her face. She frowns and reaches up to touch my cheek. "Did you break your nose?"

"Close. The traitor Dauntless broke my nose." She opens her mouth in anger, then closes it. I understand. The thought of an entire half of our former faction siding with my bitch mother would make anyone in their right mind sick. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I mean, I always knew the Dauntless were crazy," she comments. "But I never thought they would be this crazy. Minus the mind control." She pauses and looks around nervously. "Maybe we should go somewhere more sheltered if we're going to talk about this."

"Agreed."

She takes my hand and leads me to the tattered awning of an old building .We sit under it, backs to the decrepit brick, fingers intertwined. I know it's only going to be that much harder to let her go now, after spending this time alone with her, but I can't leave without saying goodbye.

"You know I have to leave," I say softly, against my will.

"I know." She idly traces patterns on the back of my hand. "I wish you didn't half to. But I understand." Silence for a moment, while we drink in each other's presence. "I have something for you."

"Do you?" Despite the sadness gathering behind my eyes, I smile. Even though I ruined her life and we're in the middle of a war, she still cares about me. "What is it?"

She hesitates. "I'm not sure you're going to like it…"

"I'm sure I will," I reassure her, while wondering what it could be, that it would cause her to act like this.

"Okay." She reaches into her pocket. "I was going to give it to you before…everything happened, but I guess that doesn't matter now."

She pulls it out and holds it up, and now I understand her hesitation. I stare at it unblinking, trying to comprehend the fact that she's offering me a vial of Instigate.


	50. Instigate

_Last chapter :( There's still an epilogue, though. I've already written it but it might not go up until tomorrow. I want to post the epilogue and the first chapter of the sequel at the same time, so it depends on when I get that done. Thank you to every single person who has ever read this, especially the people who review. You all mean the world to me, even if I don't reply to every single one of you!_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Chapter Fifty: Instigate<br>Eric**

I unconsciously begin shaking my head, even though the sight of the vial, one dose exactly, has made me realize just how deep into withdrawal I actually am. Smashing all my stores seemed like a good idea at the time, but all it actually did was make me weak just in time for battle. The pounding headache isn't just from a broken nose, the dry mouth not from nervousness, the heavy limbs not just from fatigue and injury. In truth, I need it to function, no matter how fucked up it sounds. And she is offering me the key, in the midst of rebellion, to feeling normal again.

"Where did you get this?" I stutter, taking it from her and holding it up to the light of a streetlamp. It's definitely Instigate, I would recognize it anywhere. The thought of her going to a dealer, especially some of the ones I've done business with, makes me sick.

"Don't worry about that." She definitely went to a dealer. I can only hope they didn't ask too much of her. "You need it. Don't pretend you're okay."

"I'm fine. I can handle it." It isn't a lie, exactly, but it's not quite the truth either. I've been through withdrawal stints worse than this. But then, I've also never had a broken nose and a hole in my foot while going through withdrawal. I could definitely use this vial right now. But then I remember Asher, and how I caused her death, and I'm filled with the urge to throw it into the marsh.

"Careful. You might break it." She uncurls my fingers from where they are clutching the vial tightly and takes it from me. 'Where's your syringe?"

"I don't want it," I insist halfheartedly.

"Yes, you do. Don't lie." She glares at me. I feel terrible about refusing what was supposed to be a peace offering, but I'm so filled with guilt at this point that I fear my body might physically reject it.

"I do want it. You're right about that. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Is this some guilt thing? You didn't kill Asher, you know." Her Candor bluntness is like a knife to my heart. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me, but she has.

"I might as well have. I was trying to kill myself, you know."

She stops and turns to stare at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I just couldn't take anymore. I don't know if I can now."

"I know you can. I mean, you've made it this far, haven't you? Even with that" –she gestures towards my foot— "and your mom and me and all the other shit you've been through the past couple weeks. But you can't keep doing this by yourself. You need help. Let me help you." She holds up the syringe from my bag—I didn't even notice her digging around in it—and this time I feel my resolve weakening. She honestly believes this will be good for me, and part of me believes it as well, jumping for joy at the thought of feeling like a human being again. But I hesitate, remembering Asher, and Christian, and all the other people whose lives I've irreparably fucked up, or ended. She reaches across me to my bag and pulls out the box, empty of my syringe. I feel my resolve weakening further still as she empties the vial into it and begins to tap the side, getting the bubbles out. Am I imagining things, or does the injection site on my arm actually burn? She looks up at me.

"Will you let me help you?" she asks.

Swallowing back all my fears and concerns about what a terrible idea this actually is, I nod. She ties me off expertly—I wonder where she learned to do that, because it definitely wasn't from my fumbling hands—and in minutes my arm is completely numb. I wonder if she figured it out from watching my clumsiness, or if there was more happening at her little Candor parties than she cared to let on. Slowly, she inserts the needle and pushes until the syringe is empty. I know that in a few minutes my head will stop hurting and I will wonder why I ever had second thoughts about this decision, but right now all I feel is sick.

"How are you doing?" she asks, untying my arm and putting the syringe and strip of fabric back into the box, which she then zips into my bag.

"Nauseous," I answer honestly. "We probably shouldn't have done this."

"It'll help. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but it will. You can't just quit cold turkey in the middle of a war." She may have a point, but that doesn't mean I have to feel good about it.

"I have to go now," I say, avoiding how I actually feel. I can't think about that right now; there are more pressing matters at hand. "You'll stay here?"

"For as long as they'll keep me. Maybe some of the others will show up." She shrugs and puts her arms around me. I stay still for a moment, letting her hold me, and then pull back. On instinct, I go to put the empty vial in my pocket—only to stop as it collides with another one. I frown as I pull it out and hold it up to the dim light. Grey liquid fills it almost all the way to the stopper. My hand begins to shake. It's a vial of the death-reversing serum, and it's perfectly intact.

"What's that?" Christina asks, and an idea pushes its way to the front of my mind.

"I can't tell you right now, but you have to trust me when I say it's important." I fold the vial into her hand. "You need to take it. Use it only when you absolutely have to."

"Okay, but seriously, what is it?" She looks down at the vial, squinting as though that will reveal its true nature, and I can't bring myself to tell her. If I do, she might try and bring Will back, and the disappointment in her eyes when I tell her we can't, he is too brain-damaged, would be too much for me to bear.

"Like I said, just trust me." A train horn blares, and I stand. I turn to look back at her and we kiss sadly, knowing that this could be it. After a moment we turn away from each other, and I face the tracks.

"Will I see you again?" she asks, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. "You will."

Then I get a running start and jump onto the train.


	51. Epilogue

_Thank you to everyone! I'll respond to all the reviews! I can't even express how much I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you so much for your support. The sequel will go up right after this!_

**Breaking The Habit  
>Epilogue<br>Ashleigh Thomas**

When I was seven years old, I jumped a Dauntless train. The car I happened to land in was full of families who gawked at me like the abnormality I was, an Erudite girl who didn't quite fit. After a few minutes of mutual staring, another girl about my age stepped forward and, quite bluntly, asked me why I wasn't in Dauntless. That was how I met Ivoree Luck, who would become one of my closest friends, especially after I transferred.

But the real story comes after I jumped off the train and broke my leg. When they rolled my bed into a room, I was introduced to Eric Matthews, a surly blond child who had never been close to anyone even near his own age. I changed that. And then, like an idiot, I fell in love with him. Despite my so-called bravery, despite the fact that I ranked third at the end of initiation, I could never bring myself to tell him. I just watched as he gave his heart away over and over, visited him in the hospital room we jokingly considered "ours" after all his drug trials. I never felt closer to him (before we started fucking, that is) than I did in that room.

Which is why, when I wake up, I know exactly where I am.

I awake with a jolt, hyperventilating, heart racing. Something feels incredibly off, though I can't quite put my finger on what it is. The room looks exactly the same as I remember, not a needle out of place. There are machines next to me, though, that I recognize as life support, and I realize they must have ben hooked up to _me_. I can't remember what happened, but when I reach up to push my hair out of my eyes I find a bandage on my forehead. I probably have a concussion, I reason. That would explain my memory loss.

It takes a minute and several tries, but I manage to stand up to survey the room. I am in a standard-issue blue Erudite hospital gown, my feet bare, bandages covering most of my arms and legs. Something really bad must have happened to me. The other bed is occupied, but a sheet is covering the humanoid shape that lies on top of it. They must have died in between visits from the nurse. I feel bad for their family. It's hard to lose someone you love. I would know.

I pick up my charts from the end of the bed and examine them. _Blunt force head trauma _is listed as one of my injuries, which would explain why I can't remember what happened to me. Everything else looks normal, though. My eyes fall on an abbreviation, T.O.D., with a number next to it. A time. Something begins to click into place in the back of my mind. I've worked here before, with my sister, and I've filled out these same charts more than once. T.O.D. stands for time of death. That couldn't possibly have been filled out for me…unless…

Frantic now I look at the top of the chart, next to my name. _Test Subject 173_.

The door bursts open then and two Erudite guards march in. When they see me standing up, they pin my arms behind my back and hold me immobile in the center of the room. I'm too shocked to fight back. The door swings open again and through it steps the last person I want to see.

"Good, she's awake," Jeanine says.

The guards push me forward, and I stumble. My eyes land on the chart on the other bed, and I see the name on it and for a moment I can't breathe.

_Abraham, Christian, Test Subject 98._

"Bring her to my office," she says to the guards, gesturing without even looking at me. "We have much to discuss.


End file.
